


Death Becomes Them

by mrgoldsdearie



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bisexual Love Triangle, Cheating, Cheating spouse, Creampie, Dark Comedy, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy, Gore, Hand Jobs, Inspired by a Movie, Jealousy, Living Corpses, M/M, Magical Potion, Mentions of Hallucinogenic Drugs, Multiple Orgasms, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, Vaginal Sex, death becomes her au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-02-07 17:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12845682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrgoldsdearie/pseuds/mrgoldsdearie
Summary: Nygmobblepot Death Becomes Her AU (A pair of rivals who drink a magic potion that promises eternal youth, but experience unpleasant side effects when they physically die, becoming walking, talking corpses) — Isabella Flint and Oswald Cobblepot have had a long history of being rivals, trying their best to outdo each other in every part of life. Isabella, an award-winning author, is engaged to Edward Nygma, a plastic surgeon. However, unbeknownst to Edward, Isabella feels her relationship with the doctor won't last the sands of time if Edward can’t pass a test that she has planned to put him though. Isabella has lost lovers in her life by the charming of Oswald, world-famous actor, and she’s hoping that Edward can meet her frenemy and not succumb to Oswald’s spell in which he seems to have over almost everyone. Heated jealousy boils between Isabella and Oswald over the years and murder might end up being their only solution.





	1. Izzy & Ozzie

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by one of my favorite movies Death Becomes Her. So a lot of the eliminates from the movie will be playing out. The story will unfold over the course of 25 years with the characters so their life and physical appearances will change over time. I'm so excited to work on this story and I love writing it already. It's so new and interesting for me. I can't wait to get to the murder and the rising of the dead. Poor Eddie is gonna be so freaked out. I hope those who read this chapter love it as much as I do. Please like, reblog, or comment if you enjoy… Happy Reading! ૮⍝◜•˕̮•◝⍝ა

## Part One: Izzy & Ozzie

 

The theater is not a place Isabella Flint normally frequents. She’s always thought the stage was for self-centered people who crave attention. It isn’t really her fault that this is the way she thinks, however. She’s only known one actor her entire life, and he definitely fits in that category. 

Isabella and Oswald Cobblepot have been in each other’s lives on and off since they were children—but never have they actually seen eye to eye. It’s not as if they wanted their relationship to be rocky, but the cards of jealousy have always been in play between them. 

Growing up in the home of a wealthy tailor, Oswald has never needed for anything. He’s always gotten what he’s wanted and he didn’t care what he had to do to get it—especially when it came from Isabella. Her family had wealth as well, though not as much as his, but she always managed to have better things than him nonetheless. Better birthday parties, better family vacations, better friends. Anything she had Oswald wanted for his own, and in return, she wanted the same from him. 

Their bitter rivalry may have started out with material things, but as they got older, they needed to best each other in life and with their personal relationships. At times that meant stealing away one lover from the other.

Now, at 25 years old and standing outside the theater with her fiancé—Edward Nygma, renowned, genius plastic surgeon, a veritable protégé at his young age—Isabella's heart beats out of her chest. She didn't want to go to the show to which she was invited, but she needed to. She needs to know if her future husband can pass a little quiz, something she calls ‘The Cobble Test’.

“Isabella, you're shaking like a leaf,” Edward says, wrapping his overcoat around Isabella's shoulders as they stand outside the theater, waiting to get their tickets checked and enter the show. “I guess the temperature has dropped a bit.”

“No, it's not that,” she assures him. “It's Oswald. I haven't seen him in years.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He wraps his arm around her shoulders. “You don't have to be nervous. Just because he may be a famous Oscar and Emmy winning actor who's also made dozens of films internationally doesn't mean he’s changed from the person you grew up knowing. He's still your best friend.”

Each foul word spoken of Oswald's success makes Isabella’s stomach turn and her blood run red hot, but she can't be upset with Edward for saying these things. He doesn't know any better since he's living in the dark about her and Oswald's past.

“You're right, Eddie.” She forces a smile. “He still might be the person I've always known.”  _A lying boyfriend stealing bastard of a flightless bird_. And she's going to get her proof of that.

Edward kisses her cheek as the line into the theater finally starts to move. “You have nothing to worry about, I promise. Besides, it's not like you're not a bestselling author or anything. I'm sure he'll be impressed by that.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “We'll see.”

At the front of the line, Edward hands their tickets to the clerk then he and Isabella take their seats.

Now comfortably in their theater sets, which seems to be the best ones in the house—Oswald was so generous that way—Edward notices something on the program the clerk handed to him when she checked their tickets.

“Look!”, Edward says excitedly and points at the words on the purple glitter paper he wants her to see. “For my dearest friend, Izzy.” He reads her the words of Oswald's dedication to the show, but his enthusiasm for them isn't met with the same respect from Isabella.

She squints at him, tipping her head slightly to the right with her arms crossed over her chest. “You think that's a good thing?” she asks with annoyance in her voice.

“Yeah…. Why wouldn't it be?”

“The show is literally called ‘Gonna Steal Your Man If You Have One, You Little Blond Bitch’.”

“Oh—” Edward rubs her back soothingly—“as a writer you know titles don't really mean anything. It could be a metaphor or something.”

“A metaphor?” she snapped. She knows Edward's is a genius, but she had no idea how thick he could be. “What else could ‘you little blond bitch’ mean?”

Before Edward could even spit out a reply, let alone think of one, the lighting in the house dies and the show begins with a single spotlight on the stage. 

Oswald steps out from stage lift, wearing an elaborate but form-fitting purple feather coat. He greets the audience and welcomes them to show, while side-eyeing Isabella the entire time.

Feeling like Oswald’s piercing green eyes are staring through the depths of her soul, Isabella turns to Edward, and he appears captivated by Oswald. She can't tell if he's that interested in the show this early, or if Oswald has already started with the strange enchantment he seems to have over the lovers in her life.

“He's more handsome in person.” Edward cuts his eyes to her, finding his fiancée gawking back at him with a deadpan glare. “But not as pretty as you of course,” he quickly adds, trying not to make it seem like an afterthought and kisses Isabella on the cheek.

She huffs softly and turns her attention back to the stage.

## *  
*  
*

The show goes on into its first hour and there isn't much to be dazzled about, at least in Isabella’s opinion. She just sees it as a self-absorbed autobiography of Oswald's life in the movie business, disguised as a drag show. It's just one huge excuse for Oswald to come out on stage in the most glitzy, flamboyant, and elaborate costumes she's ever seen. Just the costume budget alone must have been a fortune, but knowing that Oswald wrote and produced this show, money was never an issue.

She turns to Edward again and he's even more mesmerized by the show than before. He’s sitting on the edge of his seat with his eyes popping out of his skull. She isn't quite sure if it's just the reflection from all the glitter on the stage, but it appears as though Edward is actually drooling at the mouth.

“Ed…,” she says timidly and doesn't receive a reaction from him at all. “Eddie...,” she speaks a little louder and he responds with a meager twitch. “Edward...”

He brings a finger to his lips and shushes her.

Isabella takes in a sharp breath, quickly laying her hand over her heart in shock. Her fiancé is completely drowning in Oswald's charm on stage. She needs to stop it before he’s pulled down any further. Thinking swiftly, she takes his face in her hands, turns him to her and kisses him sloppily—their teeth clang together in her haste.

Edward's body stiffens and he tries to turn his head back to the stage, but she keeps a suffocating grip on him. “Gugh...ugh…,” he gargles for breath. When she forces to push her tongue down his throat, Edward finally gets a better grip on her and pulls her away from his face. He quickly looks around at the other theatergoers, and of course, they’re being stared at and secretly judged. “What the hell was that?” he asks, hushed, but stern.

“I just needed to kiss you.”

“That was exceedingly inappropriate and not to mention disrespectful to Oswald. He did dedicate this show to you.”

Isabella can't believe this. Oswald already has his claws into Edward and they haven't even met face to face yet. She lets out a throaty chuckle, rolling her eyes, as she gently wipes the corners of her painted lips— _he was fucking drooling_ —and turns back to the stage, leaving Edward to enjoy the gaudy show in peace. She hopes that when Edward does meet Oswald after the show, he is a lot stronger than this.

## *  
*  
*

Backstage in his large dressing room, Oswald Cobblepot sits in front of his vanity mirror surrounded by dozens of flowers and stuffed animals, mostly penguins, given to him by fans. The two and a half hour show ended ten minutes ago and he wipes off the heavy stage makeup.

He watched Isabella during various stages of the show to bask in her petty jealousy of him.  _God, was it fucking glorious._  He could live off of all the expressions she made, but especially those from the man next to her.

The seemingly tall man in the glasses was an excited little string bean. Oswald can't help but hope that he was Isabella’s plus one. The man certainly looked like her type….  _His_  type, rather.

_*knock, knock, knock*_

“Come in,” Oswald says, resting his black eyeliner on the table and picks up a small powder puff to buff out the shine on his nose.

“Mr. Penguin?” A stagehand peeks his head in the door. Everyone in the industry calls Oswald by his performance name. “Your V.I.P is here.”

He quickly turns around with a wide smile on his face. “Please send her in immediately.” He turns back to the mirror and moistens his lips with watermelon flavored gloss.

“Yes, sir.” The stagehand closes the door and promptly returns with Oswald's guest.

Isabella walks into the dressing room alone and takes a glimpse around. She isn't surprised that the place is cluttered with gifts from fans.  _What a fucking hog._

Oswald looks up at her through the mirror in the vanity and his face glows at the site of his oldest friend. “Izzy!” he exclaims and turns the chair around. He stands up and adjusts the tie around his silk robe before walking towards her with his arms wide open. 

“Ozzie…” She isn’t as good as an actor as Oswald, but she tries to appear just as excited as him. “It's—it’s been years.” She wraps her arms around him. 

“You look stunning.” He kisses her left cheek and takes a quick peek at her black evening dress. “Absolutely stunning,” he lies, placing another kiss on the right and steps back to put a bit of space between them. He can’t stop scrolling his eyes up and down while thinking the rag that she has the nerve to call a dress looks like something that came straight from a mannequin at K-Mart. What’s worst is that she probably got it from a high-end store and paid a pretty penny for it. 

“I can say the same about you… Oh, and on stage…. Breathtaking.” She tries not to choke on her words. “I’ve never seen so many detailed and gorgeous costumes.” She wanted to vomit from all the sequence. 

“Thank you so much.” His freckled cheeks flush—another one of his amazing acting talents. “All I really hope is that you enjoyed the show.”

“I absolutely loved it.” She hasn't had to lie this much in over five years. God, she hopes she’s convincing. “Thank you so much for the dedication. I’m simply honored to have a play called ‘Gonna Steal Your Man If You Have One, You Little Blond Bitch’ dedicated to me.” She fights off lifting her hand to smack that smirk off of his pale face. “An absolute honor.” 

“Well, you deserved it.” He playfully boops her on the nose and crosses his arms, shifting his weight to the left. “So…. Where’s that handsome man I saw you sitting with? Or were you with that beautiful woman?” 

With both Oswald and Isabella having an eye for either sex, they have attempted to snatch men and women alike from each other. 

She lets out a short, insecure, laugh, accompanied by a slight roll of the eyes. He’d held off a lot longer than she thought he’d be able to before getting to this subject. She could just turn around and leave without giving Edward a chance to meet Oswald, but she needs to know if their relationship can hold through Oswald’s spell. 

“Well—” she straightens her back and stands a little taller—“that was Edward Nygma.” She shows Oswald the ring on her finger. “He’s my fiancé.”

“Congratulations,” he says with a smile plastered on his face and shakes her hand as his stomach starts to turn. This guy must be a bigger fool to agree to marry her, which is nothing that can’t be fixed. “Where is the man doomed to spend the rest of his life with you?” he says teasingly, but it wasn’t really a tease. 

“Huh,” she huffs, slipping her hand from Oswald’s grip and licks her lips. “Well, your dry performance on stage has left me quite parched,” her honeyed voice says. “I asked him to get me a soda.” 

Oswald laughs dramatically, boisterous and extremely insincere. “That’s something I always loved about you,” he says as the fake expression of joy falls from his face. “Your lack of wit,” he snarls through his teeth and quickly circles back to his chair in front of the vanity. 

Isabella snickers quietly to herself. However this night ends, at least she got one good hit on him.

The dressing room falls dead silent as they stare daggers at each other through the mirror while Oswald finishes his makeup and there’s another knock at the door.

“Mr. Cobblepot?” Edward says on the other side of the door. “They said it was okay for me to just walk in, but I don't know if you're decent or not.”

Oswald can tell by the look on Isabella’s face that she knows the person that owns this enchanting voice. “Whoever you are, stranger, you can come in.” He unknots the tie on his robe and opens it to reveal his porcelain, hairless chest. “I'm quite decent.”  

When the door is opened, both Isabella and Oswald are shocked to see a giant stuffed penguin holding a bouquet of lilies. The only things visible on Edward are his legs.  

Oswald lets out a girlish squeal and hops up to his feet. He shoves Isabella off to the side as he makes his way to the door. “Is that for me?” he giggles, cheeks flushed for real this time.

“Yes, it is.” Edward made a trip to the gift store just down the street from the theater. He couldn't meet such a famous man without something to give to him. “I wanted to congratulate you on your success for opening night,” he says, peeking from behind the huge toy.

“I don't know if it's a success for not. I haven't checked to see what the critics are saying.”

“It's a buzz,” Edward replies. He checked Twitter himself on his way to the gift shop and saw nothing but rave reviews. He even tweeted a few of his own. “Everyone in Gotham is talking about it and saying nothing but good things.”

“Aren't you the sweetest.” Oswald kindly takes the penguin from Edward's grip and rests it on one of the tables with the other gifts from fans, but he pushes those items to the back so that the giant penguin is sitting in the front. “He'll be sleeping with me tonight.” He pats the bird on the head and turns back to face his guests. “Izzy—” he tips his head to the right, folding his hands before him— “aren't you going to properly introduce me to your future husband?”

However, Isabella can't find the words to speak. She stands stuck in place with her jaw to the door staring at the penguin on the table. She had thought of several things to expect when Edward walked through the door—her drink for one thing—but this…  _this_ … was definitely not one of them.

Edward takes one glimpse at Isabella and sees that she's in one of her weird trances of shock. The last time he’d seen her in one was when her book first made the bestseller list. He doesn't know what caused it this time, but it’d pass sooner or later. “It appears you already know about me, Mr. Cobblepot,” he answers in Isabella’s stead.

“Please, call me Oswald.” He stands with his hands on his hips, holding the opening of the robe wider. He nibbles on his bottom lip seductively as his eyes travel the length of Edward's long body, drinking in every inch of the sight. “And yes, Edward,” he finally adds, saying Edward's name as deliciously as he can. “Izzy has told me a little about you. Did you think you'd be a secret?” He glides up to Edward and gently takes his right hand, grazing his thumb over the back of the tall beauty’s hand before leaning in to gift it with a kiss.

Edward dissolves into giggles and his face is instantly painted with a blush. “Oh, Mr. Cobblepot,” he says nervously, even though he knows it's okay to call him Oswald. “I—I surely hope not.”

Oswald licks his lips and tastes not only his cherry balm, but the masculine cologne Edward is wearing.  _Delicious._  “She tries; ever since we were children, she’d try to keep secrets from me, but I always find out about them.” He cuts his eyes back at Isabella. “Don't I, Izzy?”

With those words, Isabella jerks out of her trance and looks around the room. Her eyes fall on Edward and the disgustingly wide grin on his face as he gazes at Oswald. “Eddie!”, she says sharply to get his attention, but her attempted was a failure with Oswald's immediate interruption.

“Eddie... Is that what she calls you?” Oswald's hold on Edward's hand tightens as he leads him to the vanity. “I think I'll call you that too,” he adds as they walk by Isabella, cutting his eyes at her. “You have a seat right here, Eddie—” he offers him the chair— “and tell me all about yourself. I need to know if you're good enough to marry my friend.” He sits on the tabletop of the vanity in front of Edward with his robe still wide open.

Edward blinks, trying to keep his eyes off of Oswald's lickable chest. “Well—” he clears his throat— “I'm a surgeon…” he manages to say before Isabella barks at him.

“Edward!” She demands to be heard and finally gained Edward's attention.

“Yes, honey?” He turns to her.

“You forgot my soda,” she whimpers. She knows it's just a drink, but it's the principle of the matter. Edward brought Oswald a huge toy and left her with nothing. She's losing her fiancé right before her eyes.

“Oh, I'm sorry, honey. I  _did_  forget it, didn’t I?” he apologizes sincerely. Edward spent so much time getting to the gift shop and finding the perfect item to bring back for Oswald that her drink completely slipped his mind. “I didn't mean to forget about you.”

“I think you did,” she pouts.

“What?” he questions. How can Isabella say such a thing?

In Edward's attempt to stand and go to Isabella, Oswald places his hand on Edward's shoulder to keep him in his seat. “Now, hold on, you two lovebirds.” He stands from the table top with his hands on his hips. “There no reason for this domestic squabble.” He slowly steps closer to Isabella, staring right into her eyes. “My  _dry_  performance on the strange was the reason you were thirsty, to begin with, right?”

“Isabella…” Edward says, shocked, with his eyes wide. “You really said that?” He thought Oswald's performance was incredibly awe-inspiring.

“Edward… I…” she stumbles over her words. Oswald is such a sneaky little bastard for throwing her under the bus like this.

“It's okay, Eddie,” Oswald says swiftly turning around on the heels of his shoes. “I'm used to brutally honest criticism.”

“Yeah, but that wasn't just criticism,” Ed says, disappointed in his fiancé. “That was plain mean.”

“It's alright, Edward.” Oswald gently rubs Ed on the shoulder. “When you are an amazing actor, such as myself—” he lays his hand dramatically over his heart and bats his long, mascara painted lashes— “you have to develop a thick skin for harsh criticism.”  He turns back to Isabella, indulging himself in the nauseated expression across her face. “However, since I'm the reason that you're dying of thirst, Izzy.” Oswald points at her. “I feel that it's my job to cure it.” He goes to the mini fridge by the vanity and opens it to take out a cold bottle of orange juice.

“That's very kind of you, Oswald.” Edward smiles in approval. Oswald didn't need to offer her a drink. It really was all his fault he forgot it in the first place. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome, Eddie,” Oswald says with a fiendish grin and tosses the drink at Isabella. “Drink up, Izzy,” he snarls. “And wet that pretty little whistle of yours.”

## *  
*  
*

As the rest of their visit in the actor’s dressing room goes on, Oswald insisted on getting to know Edward better and the plastic surgeon is more than delighted to oblige. He was more than eager to tell Oswald personal details of his life, gaining a range of different emotional response from Oswald that causes the surgeon to feel like they have a connection to each other, which isn't a lie, but this would have never happened if not for Isabella's selfish need to put her fiancé through a completely avoidable test.

Isabella feels like an outsider the entire time during the visit, but that's really her fault for allowing this charade to go on and letting Oswald dig his claws deeper into Edward. She could have stopped this, or not have gone through with her little test in the first place, but curiosity led her down the path of getting exactly what she sought out for.

Now as Edward drives Isabella back home to her apartment—she still has some packing to do before moving in with Edward—Isabella thinks over the night and how many times she's seen this happened to her. She doesn't know if she should just end things before Edward realizes that he wants Oswald, or if she should just wait around for him to dump her first.

“I can't believe you,” she mutters as Edward stops the car before her brownstone apartment.

“What?” Edward squints at her, straightening his glasses.

“I had high hopes for you, but you failed.”

He shakes his head, baffled. Where the hell is she coming from with this? “Isabella, why are you talking as if I failed a test or something?”  He lays a hand on her knee. “What's going on with you? You've been cold and distant all night.”

“That's very rich for you to say,” she hissed.

“What are you talking about?”

“All you need to know is that you failed and it's pathetic.” In her state of high emotions, Isabella struggles with the door before opening it. “Don't call me tonight,” she says, stepping out of the car.

“Wh-Why not?” He unbuckles his seatbelt. “You need to talk to me.”

“No, I don't… I don't want to hear your voice or what you have to say to explain yourself because you can't!”

“Explain myself? About what?” He reaches out to her. “Izzy, what’s happening to…”

“Don't you do that,” she cuts him off. She can't stand the sight of those dark puppy eyes gazing at her as he reaches out to her.

“But—But what about the book?” Every night they call each other to read a chapter of the book they’re finishing together. He only brings it up to further their conversation to try to get her to talk more and hopefully explain why she's being so hostile. “It's my turn to read the next chapter of Anna Karenina to you.”

“Read it to yourself!” she demands and slams the car door shut.

Edward is confused about her sudden anger. He thought tonight was amazing, and ending it with an argument was the last thing he expected. “Well—” he lets down the passenger's window so she can hear him as she unlocks her front door— “I'm not going to read it at all because I'm sick to death of your stupid tragic love stories!” he shouts and quickly drives away. If she doesn't want to talk, then what's the point of trying to make her?

## *  
*  
*

Later that night, Edward tosses in bed, thinking about the immature way Isabella acted. What was really the point behind her anger? Why was he left alone tonight without anyone to talk too?

He turns in the bed and reaches for his phone along with a folded little piece of paper next to it. The feeling surging through him is one he hasn't felt in years—a mix of fear, curiosity, and wonderment all stirring together deep within his core as he stares down at the crumpled paper. Opening it sends chills down his spine and he starts to wish he’d never found it. If he didn't, he wouldn't have this yearning to dial the numbers that were elegantly written down on the paper. He takes a deep breath and his hand jitters with each number he presses on the phone, then he starts to hear the ringing on the other line. Every chime is a chance for him to hang up, which he never takes.

“Oh, Eddie,” Oswald purrs, thick with desire, into the phone. He had no doubt he’d hear this voice again tonight. “I was just thinking about you.”

Edward doesn't say a word. He shouldn't even be on the phone this late. He has a scheduled operation in the morning.

“I know you're there, Ed. I can hear you breathing.”

Edward licks his lips and tries to keep his nervousness from showing in his voice, but he fails. “Y-You—You were th-thinking about me?”

Oswald giggles sweetly. “Well aren't you an adorable little thing… Of course, I was thinking about you. You were so charming tonight.”

“I—I was?”

“Mhm… That isn't something I'd lie about, Eddie.

“I wish I had someone else to be charming with. Now I’m just—just lonely.”

“Where's Isabella?”, Oswald asks, even though learning the fact that they aren’t together at the moment is a pleasant surprise.

“She's at her place,” Edward answers honestly. “We had an argument tonight and I don't know what I did to upset her.”

However, Oswald knows exactly why she is upset. He's been around this block with Isabella many times.

“I wouldn't even have anyone to talk to tonight had you not slipped your number into my pocket,” Edward goes on to say.

Oswald had secretly put the paper in the pocket of Edward's suit and Edward found it when he went to remove the car keys.

“Well, I had to make sure you could get in contact with me,” Oswald says, proud of his old-fashioned but effective maneuver. “Do you need someone to talk to about what's happening between you and Isabella?”

Edward huffs and chuckles dismissively. “There's nothing happening between us.” He rolls his eyes. “We’re fine,” he says, unsure of if he's trying to convince Oswald or himself.

“If that were true, you'd be calling her instead of me,” Oswald replies. The way Edward answered his question was all the proof be needed about the doubts in their relationship. “You can tell me anything, Eddie. I promise not to go back and tell her. You and I are friends too and I want to build our trust.”

Edward's heart suddenly drops to the pit of his stomach. There's just something morally wrong about being on the phone with this man. Oswald his kind and very polite, but there's something about this conversation that makes him feel filthy. He loathes the fact that he loves the way the filth feels on his skin.

“I… I don't—d-don't know if I s-should be doing this!”, Edward forces out the words, stuttering, but strong.

“If you feel like you're doing something wrong, hang up right now. I won't judge you.”

Edward sits there quietly for a moment, sweaty hand gripping the phone against his ear. Why does he feel the need to keep going? What's pulling him? “Isabella would probably judge me if the situation was the other way around.”

“She could be very judgmental,” Oswald immediately adds.

“And bossy.”

“Yes,” Oswald says with a chuckle in his voice, greatly satisfied that Edward didn't hang up the phone. “I grew up with the girl. I know exactly how she is.”

“Yeah, sometimes I feel like I can't do anything for myself around her. She pushes me to do things that she wants,” Edward confesses, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. He's never said that to anyone. “She was the one who asked me to marry her, you know?”

“No, I didn't know that.”

“It was last week actually. I never thought I'd marry anyone in my life. I never thought I deserved that kind of happiness, so when she asked I was completely overjoyed, but I also felt like I couldn't say no.”

“How do you feel about it now, after thinking about it for a week?”

Edward grips tightly at the blanket covering his legs, stalling a little before saying the words he's never said aloud before. “I don't think I should have said yes so quickly.”

Oswald tries not to seem overjoyed about the validation of doubt in Edward's relationship with Isabella. He really shouldn't be so surprised that she still breaks people down to get what she wants from them. It's been the end of many of her relationship in which Oswald didn't have a hand in ending.

“Maybe you're just scared and that the argument tonight is making you overthink things,” Oswald says, concerned. He needs to make sure that this isn't only coming from the aftermath of their argument.

“No, this isn't just about tonight. I've always thought I said yes to fast. Ever since the night she asked for my hand, my mind has been clouded and it's been cloudy ever since.”

“Maybe we need to clear your thoughts.”

“But how?”, Edward asks.

“I'm going to be very honest and open with you, Eddie.”

“Okay.” He nods.

“I felt something with you tonight, something I never felt with anyone,” Oswald admits, which is very true. “I know I don't know you, but I feel this attraction to you tugging me in like a black hole and that pull didn't stop until you called me. That's when I felt that I could be still... I need to get to know you better, Edward. So, I'd like to know if you’d go out on a date with me.”

The phone nearly slips from Edward's sweaty hands when Oswald asked him out. He's never been asked out on a date and only met Isabella by being set up by resident nurses at the hospital. It was like a ‘you’d really be good with my friend’ sorta thing.  

Edward thinks for a moment. He feels horrible for even considering it. This isn't the kind of thing a man who's going to promise himself to another should be considering. He has to think about his fiancé first, not himself. His needs and doubts don't matter—even though they really do.

“I don't know if I can cheat on Isabella,” he finally answers.

“You're not cheating on her,” Oswald tries to convince him. “This isn't about sex, Eddie. You're just trying to explore a little more and figure out if the decisions you've already made are the right ones for you. You're trying to do it before it's too late. Before you can't back out. You don't want to break her heart by living in a marriage that you're not even sure that you want.”

“You're right,” Edward heavily breathes, body shivering from the truth of it all. “You're absolutely right.”

“I know that,” Oswald replies. “So what do you say, Edward Nygma? Will go on a date with me? Friday sounds nice. I could have you picked up at the hospital and brought to my place.”

Edward is practically panting into the phone. The voice in the back of his head is screaming  _no, no, no_ —but Edward physically says, “Yes, yes, Oswald. F-Friday is good.” He feels like a bastard as he ignores the voice in his head telling him to recant his decision.

Oswald breathes a sigh of relief. “You won't regret this, Eddie…. I promise.”

“I have to go now,” Edward quickly says. The phone against his ear feels like it's burning through his flesh.

“You go. I'll see you soon.”

“Okay.” Edward immediately hangs up and slams the phone down on the bedside table—feeling as though he's made a deal with the devil. A deal he genuinely wants.


	2. Part Two: Succumbing to his Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabella fears that she is losing Edward and she pleads for him not to see her bitter rival. However, Edward and Oswald do end up having some time alone and—with Oswald’s powers of seduction—they learn that they are more into each other than just being new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get hot and heavy quickly in this chapter, but there's a lot going on in the terms of moving along with the story. I've mentioned before that this story’s events happen over a length of time. So the next chapter will be a 25-year time jump in which the juicy magical potion elements will come into play and the characters will be around 50 years of age. I can't wait to get Isabella and Oswald going at each other over Eddie! Please like, reblog, or comment if you enjoy this chapter. Happy reading!

## Part Two: Succumbing to his Spell

It had been a week since Isabella put her fiancé through an unusual test to see if he could avoid Oswald's charm and she had reaped the unpleasant results ever since. Things had been a little rocky between her and Edward (though mostly from her end), so much so that she couldn’t bring herself to look him straight in the eye without thinking that his every thought was filled with only images of Oswald. She couldn’t help but be suspicious of him meeting Oswald behind her back. The mere thought of it was slowly driving her insane.

“You've been seeing him haven't you?” Isabella asks with tears burning down her cheeks as she stands outside of Edward's loft. She had knocked and kicked her pink pumps frantically at the heavy metal door before Edward finally slid it open.

“W-What?” Edward stammers. “Seen who?” he immediately adds, staring back at Isabella with concern. He isn't quite sure what her tantrum is about this time, but he has a strong feeling that she's speaking of Oswald.

With plans to have dinner with the actor—Edward refused to call it a date—in only a day, there's no other reason that he can think of that would make her suspicious.

Agreeing to have dinner with Oswald is something Edward almost wished he didn't do, but every time he picked up the phone to cancel, he could never bring himself to dial the numbers. He's filled with a little guilt about the impending night because of the way Isabella has been acting, but it is something he really wants to do.

“Is this about Oswald?” he asks.

“Of course it is!” she barks. “What else would this be about?”

“Isabella,” he speaks her name softly, stepping out into the hall and rests his hands gently on her shoulders. “I still don't know what you think I did last week at the theater, but Oswald and I are just friends,” he tries to assure her. “We really got along that night and, at the moment, he's the only friend I have, aside from you. You know how hard it is for me to make them and I thought you would be supportive of it. I thought that's why you wanted us to meet.”

“I know that, Eddie.” She wipes the tears from her eyes. “I know how hard it is for you to make friends. Which is why I'm so concerned about the whole thing.”  

Edward may be handsome, as well as a genius plastic surgeon with a brilliant mind, but most people tend to see him as odd.

“Oswald uses people and when he gets what he wants from them he tosses them out like yesterday's garbage,” she goes on to say.

“Using me?” Edward blinks. What a strange concept. “How could he be using me? I have nothing for him to gain from that.”

“There is something for him to gain,” she argues. “He's using you just to hurt me. He feeds off of my pain and he'll do anything to make sure I'm miserable.”

“That's ridiculous.” He takes hold of Isabella's hands, holding them firmly as he gazes into her eyes. “Oswald isn't like that,” he says matter of factly.

“You don't know that conniving little bitch like I do.” She could write a book about all the times Oswald stabbed her in the back.

Edward wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly against his chest. “Izzy, baby,” he kisses the crown of her head. “You know I love you, but you're being absurd. Don't you even trust me at all?”

“I do trust you. I just don't trust him.”

And with those words from her, Edward thinks it's best to lay all the cards on the table. He shouldn't keep his dinner with Oswald a secret, especially now after sensing Isabella's mistrust in him.

“I'm going to be honest with you, honey, in hopes to clear this whole ugly thing,” he says and takes a deep breath as he releases Isabella from his warm embrace.

“Yes, please do.” She looks up at him.

“I don't want you to keep thinking I'm doing anything behind your back. So I want you to know that I have agreed to meet Oswald for dinner tomorrow night.”

Isabella's heart sinks to the pit of her stomach and her eyes widen with alarm. “What?!” she shrieks. “I was right all along.”

“No, Isabella. It's not like anything you're thinking,” he says reassuringly and cups her cheeks. “Please, baby,” he begs. “Don't you have a little more faith in me than that?”

Knowing Oswald, Isabella wishes she could just see this as platonic. She can't even bring herself to say she has more faith in Edward because she knows what Oswald is trying to do, and so far, he's winning.

Edward can clearly see the mistrust in her eyes and the sight of it breaks his heart. “You really don't have faith in me or us.” His hands slide down from her face.

“No, Eddie, that's not true,” she tries to be convincing.

“This is why I don't try to make friends,” he takes a step away from her, “because you only want to keep me tied down.”

“No, no…” she closes the gap between them, resting her hands on his hips. “I don't keep you tied.”

“Yes, you do!” he exclaimed, pulling her hands off of him. “You keep me tied down so tight to you that it's suffocating,” he speaks what he believes to be the honest truth. “You only want to marry me so that I can't breathe.”

“That's not fair!” she barks back “You're the one going on dates behind my back.”

“I'm not doing anything behind your back because I told you before I went.” He takes off his glasses and closes his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe,” he says timidity and looks up at her, straightening his back to say something he's only thought to himself.  “Maybe I wouldn't feel like I need this dinner with Oswald if only you didn't treat me like a glorified pet,” he says boldly, putting his glasses back on his face. “I'm not a dog, Izzy. I'm my own man and I want to do things that don't involve you or revolve around you. If you want to be my wife then you have to expect that and have more trust in me or else our marriage won't work.”

“Fine,” she says smugly, crossing her arms and slightly turns her head away. “You go off and be your own man,” she rolls her eyes, “but while you're out eating lobster or whatever expensive meal Oswald has planned, my heart will be breaking as I physically feel myself losing you.”

“You're not going to lose me, Izzy.” Edward uncrosses her arms and retakes her hands, rubbing his thumbs soothingly over her soft skin as he pulls her closer. “It's just a dinner between new friends.” He slides his hands up her arms and cups her warm neck. “The only thing happening between Oswald and I will be a conversation,” he says softly, leaning into her and brushes his nose gently over hers. “Which will most likely lead to me talking about work. He is an actor, you know. He'll probably want my professional opinion or something.” He presses his lips to her, drinking in her taste. “Then I'll come home to my beautiful fiancé and make love to her the rest of the night,” he murmurs against her lips.

She melds into him, laying her head on his chest, hearing his heart beating inside. She still has huge doubts about the situation, but she does feel like she should give Edward a chance. She knows he's strong and she should have more trust in him. What kind of marriage could they have without trust?

“There is one thing you said that's extremely unrealistic about Oswald,” she chuckles, tightening her hold on Edward.

“Yeah, and what's that?”, he asks, kissing her brow.

“He’ll never ask you about plastic surgery.” She looks up at him with a smile on her face. Though things aren't completely settled, she is a lot calmer and things do feel more normal between them. Edward has a good way of reassuring her. “That man's pointy, beak-like, nose is his meal ticket,” she continued.

Edward snickers and gifts her bow with another sweet kiss. “He does seem to be a little vain, but I probably would too if I had his looks.”

“You're perfect the way you are, Ed.”

“Thank you, Izzy,” Edward says with a smile. “Let's go inside. I think the neighbors are sick of hearing us argue.” He takes her by the hand and leads the way into the loft.

After Edward closes the door, his lips are ravaged with a sloppy kiss from Isabella and she backs him up against the door.

“Ughn,” he grunts as his back makes a thud connecting to the metal. His hands slid down to the small of her back and she wraps her right leg around him.

“I'm sorry for not having more trust in you,” she breathes upon his lips, tugging his checkered shirt out of his pants. “I really shouldn't be so possessive and jealous.”

“It's okay, Isabella,” he mutters between kisses, cupping her right breast over the blouse. “I get that way too sometimes. We just need to talk about it.”

“Mmmm… You're right.” She nibbles on his pouty bottom lip and pulls it away with her teeth. “I can feel you getting hard against my thigh already.”

“That's because you're everything I need, Isabella.” He buries his head in her warm neck, kissing and biting at her flesh.

“I really needed to hear that.” Her head falls back and she drops her leg from around Edward. “You know, riddle daddy,” she says, lusciously thick, as she cups the nap of his neck, gently raking her fingers through the short hairs. “Jeopardy is on right now.”

“What are you waiting for?” he purrs, lifting his head from her neck and arches a brow. “Turn it on.”

She giggles girlishly and shuffles to the couch, bending over the back of the couch to grab the remote.

Edward steps up behind her, lifting the skirt of her dress and she turns on the TV, making sure the volume is down and turning to the channel the game is playing on. He rubs her ass with one hand while he fumbles with his belt with the other and the pants drop around his ankles once getting it unbuckled. He then frees his cock from the underwear, pulling it out over the hem.

Stroking himself, Edward pulls down Isabella’s pink, cherry patterned panties, Isabella herself already wet with anticipation to play the game. “What’s the first question?” he heavily breathes, sliding his cock between the damp lips of her pussy. He doesn't enter her, he can't until he gets the answer right.

The remote slips from her hand when he starts to tease her and she grips onto cushions of the couch. “N-National Geographic says the s-site of this city is the—is the largest wetlands in the Mediterranean.”

“What is Venice, Italy?” He thrusts his cock inside her.

“Ah! Correct!” she cries out with a moan, rocking back against him.

He clutches on to her hips like a vice and drives his thickness deep inside her—their bodies slapping together with his steady pace. “I… I hope he p-picks the Space Exploration cat-category next.”

“Ah...ah… He will if he's not an idiot.”

When the contestant on the TV picks the category Edward was hoping for, Isabella reads him the question while she continued to take his cock from behind—slickening the shaft with the heat of her sex.

“The—The first man to travel into space on th-that fateful day in what is today this country?”

“What is Ka-Kazakhstan?” He quickens the rhythm of his plunges.

“Ah… Ah… Fuck… Correct!”

## *

## *

## *

The following Friday night, the moon is vibrant and full resting high in the dark sky, as Edward sits in the back of the limo that Oswald sent to pick him up. He watches the stars, feeling anxious and a little ashamed. Though Isabella knows what he's doing tonight, he still feels like this dinner is wrong in some way. He wasn't completely honest to Isabella about his conversation with Oswald over the phone the night they first met. He can't confess to her his doubts for accepting her marriage proposal so quickly. He loves Isabella, but he isn't quite sure if he's ready to marry her.

The limo pulls up to a large steel gate which opens automatically. The driver stops in front of the mansion where a maid steps out of the front door. Her timing appeared to be perfectly synced.

She opens the passenger door of the limo and greets Edward warmly with a thick Russian accent. “Welcome.”

“Umm, th-thank you,” Edward’s voice jitters. He's never made an entrance to a place where he instantly felt like royalty.

He follows the older lady into the mansion and she takes him to one of the large sitting room.

“You can wait here and have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the couch in front of the burning fireplace. “He'll be here in a moment.”

“Thank you,” he says kindly and takes a seat on the couch.

Getting more familiar with his surrounding, Edward gazes around the room, taking in the classic gothic architecture. He can accurately pinpoint the year in which the mansion was built just by the style. The spirit of the house feels warm and welcoming, exactly the way Edward felt when Oswald kissed his hand that night at the theater.

When Edward hears footsteps coming down the hall, he stands up from the couch to greet the actor.

Oswald enters the room and smiles at the tall beauty before him. There was a brief moment when he thought Edward wouldn't show and that he'd have to try again to free him from Isabella's clutches.

“I'm so sorry for keeping you waiting,” Oswald apologizes.

“It's okay, Oswald,” Edward assures him. “I wasn't waiting long.”

“Well that's a relief,” he chuckles. “I must admit, though—” Oswald steps up to Edward and stops before him, eyeing how gorgeous the man looks in his elegant emerald suit, “I am a little nervous about this.”  

Which was the absolute truth. Edward had every reason not to show up tonight and there would have been nothing Oswald could really do about it. Edward has, after all, promised himself to another.

“I changed my clothes six, maybe seven times before deciding on this one,” Oswald adds, freckled cheeks burning hot with a blush. “I just wanted to look nice for you.”

Oswald's pin-striped suit is perfectly tailored to the curves of his body and Edward can't help but notice how it hugs his form. “You—You look amazing in anything you wear,” Edward manages to say without sounding too needy. He told Isabella that this will be a dinner between friends and he's going to try to keep it that way no matter how attracted he is to Oswald.

Oswald giggles sweetly, turning away bashfully—something he honestly never does. “Thank you, Ed.”

“And if it makes you feel any better, I'm nervous too,” Edward shares honestly.

“Oh, you are?” Oswald sits on the couch and Edward follows suit. “I hope that doesn't have anything to do with Isabella.” He picks up the bottle of wine resting on the side table. The maid had left it out earlier to allow it to breathe. He pours them both a glass and hands one to Edward.

“No, it's not her.” Edward gently takes the stem of the glass. “It's just in my nature to be nervous, I guess,” he admits. “She knows about our meeting tonight.”

As Edward spoke those words, Oswald nearly choked on his wine. “What?” He never thought Edward would tell her about tonight or that she'd actually agree to allow him to come. In all honesty, he wanted to rub it in Isabella's face about their secret date, but now that she knows, the fun of doing that is gone.

“Yeah, I told her,” Edward continued. “She was very upset yesterday and I told her about tonight to ease her worrying.”

“Well,” Oswald clears his throat. “I'm proud of the old girl. She's really grown up.” He drinks the rest of his glass and starts to pour another. “Normally she wouldn't let me be alone with her girlfriends or boyfriends. She always brewed up a case of jealousy and accuse me of stealing them away from her.” He sits back on the couch casually, crossing his right leg over the left. He swirls the wine in his glass and licks his lips slowly before taking another drink, keeping his eyes on Edward the entire time.

Edward nervously clears his throat and gazes down at his glass bashfully. He's never had the full attention of such a gorgeous man. “Did you?” he asks timidly, averting his gaze back up to Oswald.

“Did I what?” He takes another sip from the glass.

“Did you steal them away from her?”

“Of course not,” he lies, laying a hand over his heart. “I'm not that kind of person.”

“I knew you weren't,” Edward says with a light chuckle escaping him and finally takes his first drink of wine. It's a lot sweeter and fruitier than wines he's tasted before. “She thought you were trying to take me away from her or seduce me or something.”

Oswald snickers, resting his glass back on the table, and uncross his legs. He scoots closer to the doctor and leans into him close enough to feel Edward's breath against his skin. His heart jumps as he witnessed Edward's eyes fall to his lips. “But what do you think?” he whispers.

Edward's temperature instantly skyrockets and little beads a sweat mists on his brow. “Wh-What do I th-think about what?” he stutters.

Oswald tips his head slightly to the right and licks his lips, bring in his bottom lip slowly between his teeth. “Do you think I'm trying to seduce you?” he asks as deliciously as he can and rests his hand on Edward's thigh. “Do you think I'll try to win you over with a touch?” He tenderly squeezes Edward's leg, hearing a gasp escape him. “Or will I do it with a kiss?” He quickly brushes his nose over Edward's. “What do you think I’ll do to make you succumb to my spell?”

Edward's eyes widen and his body starts to tremble. “I...um...oh dear.”

A smile lights on Oswald's face and he chuckles as he tilts away from Edward. “I'm just fucking with you, Eddie.” He picks up his glass of wine and takes a drink. “You're not even my type. I'm more into cops,” he says only to lead Edward the other direction. Edward is everything Oswald loves in the men he sets his eyes on and he’ll do all he can to make him his tonight.

“Oh…. Okay….” he sighs in relief but he can't help but feel a tad disappointed.

“I think dinner might be ready,”  Oswald says and jumps up from the couch. He offers Edward his hand and he helps him up to his feet. “I hope you're hungry, Eddie. Tonight we dine on the most expensive steak in the world; Kobe.”

“We're really having Kobe beef?” Edward asks flattered that Oswald would go all out for him, but he feels it's a little too much.

As Oswald hooks their arms together he answers proudly,  “Yes, we are.” He leads their way into the dining hall.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“Of course I had to, Ed,” Oswald insists. “You deserve the best.”

## *

## *

## *

While eating the best steak either of them has ever had—Oswald may be able to eat like this every day, but it's honestly impractical—the men talk to each other about their past and present lives, getting to know one another more intimately than that night at the theater. Oswald feels that Edward is opening up more to him without Isabella breathing down his neck. However, there is a subject that hasn't been touched and Oswald feels like he has to be the one to bring it up.

“Why are you here with me, Eddie?” Oswald asks, scooting his finished dessert plate out of his way.

Sitting across from Oswald, Edward takes another bite of the homemade lemon cake the maid served them for dessert. “Well, you invited me to dinner,” he answers.

“Yes. I know that.” Oswald smiles, while under the table he quietly slips off his shoes. “But why did you come?” he asks, folding his hands on the tabletop and slouches in his seat a little. “Are you looking for something?... I remember you sharing your doubts with me over the phone about your engagement, but yet you haven't mentioned it again.”

“I didn't think you'd want to talk about that.”

“I do,” Oswald assures him.  “I want to talk about anything on your mind. I care about how you feel.”

“Well,” he pauses for a moment, thinking of the best way to approach this. “I guess I am kinda looking for something different.”

“What do you mean by that?” Oswald asks, inching his right foot closer to Edward.

“Umm…. I love Isabella.”

“Of course you do.”

“But… We're a lot alike.”

“I see,” Oswald says with a nod.  “You're afraid things might start to get boring.”

“Something like that.” Edward looks away, feeling somewhat ashamed for thinking such a thing. What he first loved was how much they were alike, but now knowing that they're going to spend their lives together, he doesn't think he could really be with someone who's almost the same as him.

“You and I are alike in some ways, but we're both very different men,” Oswald says.

“We are.” Edward looks back at the actor. “That's what I like about you.”

“I like that about you too, Edward. I also think that we both might share a dark side.”

Edward's heart skips a beat. He didn't think that Oswald would sense that about him since Isabella hasn't. “You have a darker side too?”

“Of course I do,” Oswald answers truthfully. “Doesn't everyone?”

“I suppose that's true.”

“Is there a reason you became a surgeon, Eddie?”

“Yes, there is.”

“I know that the reason isn't that you wanted to help people, and I only say that because you're a plastic surgeon,” Oswald says, looking into Edward's gorgeous brown eyes. He could tell by the way he spoke of work that there's more he enjoys than just cologne, breast implants, and sucking out fat. “I bet there's nothing quite like the thrill of opening a body.”

Edward's palm begins to sweat and his left leg jitters nervously.  How could this man know a side of him which he had never shared with anyone? “I don't—I don't get to open many bodies.”

“I know you don't, but I bet those times when you do you can feel yourself riding high.”

Edward starts to breathe heavily and his leg jitters faster. He has words stuck to his tongue, but he can't speak them. He's never had anyone who understood or even discovered this side of him.

“Does Isabella know that about you?” Oswald smirks and lifts his foot to stroke gently over Edward's leg, which instantly stops shaking the moment he touched the doctor. “Does she know that  you love the feeling of warm blood on your hands a little more than you should?” His toes brush against Edward's inner thigh.

Edward closes his eyes tightly. He knows he should move Oswald's foot and that this shouldn't feel so good, but he can't move. He's paralyzed under Oswald's touch. “No…” he manages to answer.

“I didn't think so.” Oswald drags his foot to Edward's center and massages his toes over the bulge that slowly growing thicker. “Look at me, Eddie,” he says and Edward immediately pops his eyes open. “Have you ever been with a man before?”

Licking his drying lips from all his deep breathing, Edward honestly answers Oswald's question. “Yes. His name was Lucius Fox.”

“Did Lucius ever do this to you?” He grinds the ball of his foot a little firmer over Edward's crotch.

“Ah…”, Edward let out a soft moan. “N-No.”

“What about Isabella?”

“Ughn…. No.”

“Good, because I'm going to do things to you that you’ve never felt.”

“I thought…. I thought I wasn't your type.”

“I lied.” Oswald takes back his foot, grazing it over Edward's leg in the process.

Edward lets out a sigh, feeling relieved from Oswald's paralyzing touch. He catches his breath, straightens his fogged up glasses, and adjusts his tie. That definitely won't be happening again.

“How do you even know I'm going to allow you to do anything to me?” Edward asks, trying to sound as if Oswald had no effect on his body.

Oswald sits up in his seat and slips his shoes back on. “Because you didn't stop me when my foot groped your cock.”

“That was a mistake. I should have stopped you.”

“Maybe you should’ve, but the only important thing is that you didn't.” Oswald stands from the table and walks to where Edward is still seated. “There's no reason to keep beating around the bush, Ed.” He stands behind Edward and lays his hands on his shoulders, firmly massaging him. “You're a man that knows what he wants and how to get it.” He leans into Edward's right ear. “You just have to be ready to take it,” he whispers.

Edward's body trembles as the temperature in the room feel as though it rose 50 degrees hotter. His breathing is staggered and it seems as if he's been lifted from his body and watching himself from across the room. His mind is telling him to stand up on his lanky legs and storm out of this mansion to never step foot in it again. He has a beautiful fiancé waiting for him to come home. He should be thinking of her and not be fighting off thoughts of wanting Oswald's cock up his ass.

“Isabella trusts me,” he says and lays his sweaty hands flat on the table.

“I know she does, but you came here for a reason and now you’re just going to leave without getting what you want?” Oswald slides his hands down Edward's chest, feeling the doctor’s body vibrating. “You can tell me to stop, stand up from your seat and leave, and I'll never bother you again.” He buries his face in Edward's neck and bushes his nose over Edward's soft skin. “Or,” he lifts his head and turns Edward to face him, “you can stay and allow me to give you the best fuck of your life.”

“I… I already have great sex with Isabella!” Edward exclaimed indignantly, hitting his open palm on the wood table.

Oswald flinches but doesn't move an inch. “I didn't say sex, Eddie.” He hands travel under Edward's suit jacket and he caresses his chest, and Edward's nipples harden through the fabric of his shirt.  “I said I'm going to  _fuck_  you,” he whispers seductively in his ear. “I'm going to eat your ass until your eyes start to water. Then I'm going to suck your cock until you cum in my mouth… I swallow, Eddie.”  He takes Edward's earlobe between his teeth and gently tugs at it before letting it go. “Don't you wanna see me swallow your load?”

Edward's chest began heaving with every heavy breath he takes. His skin flushed with the hot blood coursing through his veins, the same blood that causes his cock to gorge. He wants it all.  He covens for everything Oswald is offering.

“After I swallow you,” Oswald continues his filthy talk, taking pleasure in the changes of Edward's body. “I'm gonna flip you over like a steak and take your ass with my hard cock,” he purrs through clenched teeth. “I'm gonna make you mine, Ed. I'm gonna make you forget about that ring on your finger.”

Edward takes his glass of water off the table and chugs what's left in a single gulp. He slams the glass back on the wood and quickly stands to his feet. He stares at Oswald brutally, eyes bloodshot, body trembling. He balls his fists, straightens his back, and storms out of the dining hall without saying a word.  

## *

## *

## *

_[20 Minutes Later]_

“Ah… Ah… Oh, fuck!” Edward cries out, naked body glistening with sweat as he holds himself up in the bed on his hands and knees while Oswald takes his ass from behind.

“Say my name, Eddie…” he pants, thrusting his hips against Edward's delicious round end, pounding Ed’s prostate violently with the tip of his leaking cock.

After Edward thundered out of the dining hall, he quickly turned back and planted a sloppy kiss on Oswald's lips. From there, they staggered up to Oswald's grand bedroom and Edward took a lightning-quick shower to prepare himself to have his ass pounded. Oswald then did everything he promised to do to Edward and more, and now their bodies are slapping together in the raw fuck-fest they both craved.

“Say it, Ed.” Oswald crashed his hand on Edward's ass, leaving behind another red print on his flesh.

His body trembles to the pleasurable pain. “Ah… Ah….” Edward moans, gripping tightly at the expensive silk bedding. “Oh, God!”

“You're not wrong, Ed.” Oswald pulls his cock out, teases the tip over Edward's winking pucker before slamming himself back inside. “I am a god,” he grips harder at Edward's hips and the tips of his fingers turn white under the pressure, “but that's not the name I'm asking for.”

Edward's head drops as he strained to keep up with Oswald's swift pace. “Ah…. Mmm… Shit.” His body quivers with overstimulation. He had already come once with a powerful orgasm in which Oswald swallowed blissfully. The name of his lover is tickling on his tongue but he can't focus enough to force it out. His mind is drowning in on extraordinary sex. “Oh…. Oh…. Ughn!”

Oswald separates Edward's ass cheeks, stretching him thinner. “I'm not gonna let you cum till you say it.”

Edward's painfully hard cock swings freely between his legs, hammering against his stomach with every lunge Oswald takes. “Ah… Uh… Os-Oswald!”

“That's a good boy.” Oswald picks up the bottle of lube from the bed and coats the base of his cock to make the ride slicker. He tosses the bottle to the floor and impales his cock up Edward's sweet ass, again and again, never holding back the power in his hips. “Who...does...your ass… belong to now, Ed?”

“Os-Oswald!”

“Say it!”

“My...uh...my ass belongs to Os-Oswald…! Fuck!” His arms shiver and give out under him. Now he lays face down on a pillow with his ass in the air.

“Told you I'd make you mine.”

“Oh...oh you did!”

Oswald reached under Edward and takes his cock in hand, stroking him from hilt to tip while never slowing his pace inside that throbbing ass hole.

“Cum inside me… Oh, p-please cum inside me!” Edward begs desperately.

The tip of Oswald's cock hits Edward's sweet spot dead on, which causes Edward's body to vibrate uncontrollably. With a few more strokes over Edward's thick shaft, Oswald's hand is suddenly sticky with the doctor’s heavy release.

“Fuck, yes!” Edward moans into the pillow, emptying his cock onto the bedding. “I need you to cum in me now!” He picks himself up on his hands, body shivering with the wave of his orgasm. “Fill...oh god…fill me up, Oswald!

The creamy mix of their sex coats Oswald's shaft and thick white droplets spatter on Edward's back when their bodies connect. He reaches down a little further between Edward's thighs and fills his hand with the surgeon’s sac squeezing and lightly tugging, milking Edward of anything he still holds.

“Ah… S-Shit!” A thin squirt leaks from the tip of Edward's cock. “P-Please, Oswald, I n-need your cum!”

Feeling Edward’s hole pulse hard and fast around his wet shaft lead to Oswald fucking him even deeper. He lets go of the other man's balls and holds firmly onto his hips. Thrills shot down his spine every time he pulls out and slams back inside. “Ah… Ah!” he groans, eyes rolling back, as he digs his nails into Ed’s soft flesh. He uses his grip on him as leverage to increase the power of his plunges within his smooth, slick heat.

Oswald's heaving chest bore a delightful blushing hue as he watched Edward's body rocking limply with the thrusts of his hard cock as it endlessly entered him, abusing his prostate while his heavy balls slap repeatedly against Edward's bruised ass.  

“You keep—you just keep swallowing my entire cock with your greedy ass, Eddie,” he groans, never faltering his rhythm. “If I’m not mistaken, I'd think you're a whore for my cock,” he adds, watching the erotic sight of his shaft disappearing inside of Edward's ass.  

“You're not m-mistaken…. I—I am a whore for your cock!... I can—can take it all night!”  

Oswald closes his eyes and his head lolls as he fucks the engaged man with everything he has. “We might have to test that theory,” he grunts through his teeth as an undeniable pulsation developed at the base of his shaft which signals that his release is near.

"We could, b-but please, not right now,” Edward pleads breathlessly, body quivering uncontrollably. “I need your cum!”

“You seem desperate to have my baby too.”

“I'd proudly give birth to any baby you’d fuck into me.”

“I love the sound of that.”

The smacking sound of their sweaty bodies colliding together reflects off the walls of the room, as Oswald pounds his cock repeatedly inside of Ed, hitting the doctor’s spot dead on each time. The actor thrusts within Edward's stretched hole, again and again, and again, before his body finally starts to stiffen. Feeling the rush surging electrifyingly through his whole body, Oswald clenches his jaw as his toes curl and his cock erupts forcefully, deep within Edward's fluttering asshole. Oswald expels such a thick heavy load that cum oozes out with his cock still stuffed inside.

“Yes… Oh, fuck, yes.” Finally getting filled to the max with Oswald's release, Edward's body starts to fall forward, but Oswald grasps on tighter to his skinny hips and holds himself deep inside of Ed while his body continues to quake with a blissful orgasm.

Oswald rides out the rapturous waves, but he doesn't stop fucking Edward. He helps himself to several more plunges, fucking Ed’s ass desperately as his cum coats his cock and drips out with each strong lunge inside of Edward, making sure to empty his cock.

Once being certain that he has nothing more to gift Edward's ass, Oswald pulls out his cock and Edward starts to push the cum from his ass. God, he's missed the feeling of another man’s climax drooling from his body.  

“You've made such a mess, Eddie,” Oswald says as he tries to catch his breath. “Good thing I'm not finished with you yet.” Oswald bends down so that his face is lined up with Edward's rutty ass. He then spreads Edward's cheeks and buries his face in the moist, hot crevice, lapping up what's still seeping from Edward's hole.

Edward reaches back and grips Oswald's head, fisting his hand in Oswald's raven locks, and his thighs start to quiver once again. His body is so oversensitive that even the lightest flick of Oswald's tongue over his pucker is enough to have him writhing. “Ah! Ah!” He tries to squirm away, but Oswald locks to Ed's hips to keep him firmly in place while he eats his cum-filled ass.

Oswald stiffens his tongue, pushes it in as far as he can reach, and fucks Ed with it.

“Oh, Oswald!” Edward yells. “Fuck! Fuck!” He falls face first back into the pillow, biting at the soft fabric, cock pulsing rapidly with the strokes of Oswald’s gentle tongue.

Oswald flattens his muscle and scrapes it up the length of Edward's crack, flicking it over that pulsing hole several more times before finally coming up for a breath of fresh air. “There you go, Ed.” He licks his lips and his body shivers from the taste of himself mingled with Ed's own flavor that still lingered there. “All clean.”

Edward’s legs slip from under him and he now lies motionless on his stomach, panting for breath. His cock, still pressed against his abdomen, twitches from the overstimulation of his ass, but he still manages to mutter a few breathless words. “Best...fuck...of my life.”

With a smug but satisfied, smirk on his face, Oswald crawled up beside Edward's drained and thoroughly fucked body, collapsing next to him.  He's barely able to move as fatigue starts to take hold of them both.

Their hearts are still beating rapidly, almost in sync, as Edward slowly gains movement and sluggishly scoots closer to Oswald and leaves a light trail of kisses up from his stomach to his chest.

Oswald slid his arm around him as Edward laid his head on his chest, snuggling their naked bodies against each other. “I told you you'd be mine.” He turned his face to kiss Ed's heated cheek, letting his hand wander down to his firm backside. He was still turned on, he just needed a few minutes to recharge for round two, if they can manage another round.

“You were absolutely right.” Edward rubs his hand over Oswald's chest and his engagement ring instantly clouds his sight. Guilt quickly sets in.

Not only was Oswald right about making Edward his, he was also right about making him forget about the ring on his finger. He remembers it now and his stomach starts to cramp. How could he selfishly hurt Isabella this way?

“I should go,” Edward says, starting to pick himself up from the bed

“No.” Oswald grabs his arm and slowly pulls him back into him. “You stay here with me.”

Edward gazes into Oswald’s striking green eyes, lost, for a moment, in their myriad of hues. “I need to go home to Isabella,” he insists.

“Do you really think it's a good idea to go back to her reeking of sex with another man?”

“She'll be upset if I don't come home.”

“She'll also be upset if you do.”  Oswald cups the back of Ed's neck and draws him back onto his chest. “You stay here, Eddie, and save yourself one more day from facing her,” he says softly. “Then we'll be back together.”

“How do you even know I'm coming back?”

“You will because you feel yourself falling for me the same way I'm falling for you.”

Edward's eyes start to mist with emotion from the truth of those words. He didn't intend to feel this strongly after only one night. How could this be? Feeling love this early couldn't be stable or true.

“Why does this feel so wrong?” he asks as tears stream down his cheek and into Oswald's chest. He had never broken anyone's heart before.

Oswald soothingly strokes his fingers through Edward's hair. He thought he'd feel more proud about this, but to see Edward hurting about the possible end of his engagement hurts his heart as well. He had ever cared this deeply for anyone he had taken from Isabella.

“Love isn't easy, Edward,” he whispers and places a kiss on the crown of Edward's head. “Sometimes it has to feel wrong before it feels right.”

## *

## *

## *

The next morning Edward rises early and gets dressed, ignoring the pleads of Oswald trying to make him stay. He's never felt such a hollowing guilt in his life. He needs to do the right thing today so Isabella can try to heal from the pain he's caused her.

Standing outside Isabella's apartment, Edward takes a deep breath before knocking on the door. He may be standing outside in the late September crisp morning air, but he feels like every breath is being vacuumed out of him. He starts to do numerous random math equations in his head to calm himself, but it fails. Nothing can properly prepare oneself to break someone's heart.

Though he isn't ready to face her, Edward knocks on the door and waits for her to open it. It doesn't take long before she does.

“You managed to find your way back,” she says nonchalant, crossing her arms and shifts her weight to the right. “And you're in the same clothes too.” She didn't bother to look in on Edward by phone. She knew when he didn't call her when he promised to that he probably already had his mouth full with Oswald's cock. “I hope the sex was worth destroying what we had.” She doesn't shed a tear. She did all her crying last night and the days before. She knew this would happen, it happens all the time, but she still had hopes that this time would be different.

“I'm sorry, Isabella,” Edward mumbles with a wobbly bottom lip, holding back his tears. “I didn't know he would make me feel this way.”

“I warned you. I told you this would happen and you didn't listen.”

“I'm sorry.” He lowers his head with shame.

“Don't you ever say that to me again because you're not!”

“But I am.”

“No you're not!” she barks back.  “The least you could do is own up to it and admit that you don't regret it.”

“I do regret it. I regret it because I hurt you.”

“You disgusting liar,” she says, fighting off the tears that threaten to fall.  “You probably already have plans to go back and see him.”

Edward can't even dignify that with an answer. He is going back to Oswald's tonight.

“Huh,” she huffs with a roll of the eyes. “Typical.” She holds out her hand. “I want my father's ring back.”

He nods, removing the family heirloom engagement ring from his finger and lays it gently in her hand as tears fall to his cheeks. “I did love you, Isabella. I still do.”

She stands up straight as she puts the ring in the pocket of her shirt. “You two won't last long,” she says harsh, gritting through her teeth. “Oswald collects people like dolls then throws them in the trash when he's through playing with them. You're just his new flavor of the week only because you were mine. He'll never love you the way I do. No one will… Now step away from my house. You stench of his spunk.” She slams the door in his face.

## *

## *

## *

_[Six Months Later]_

The harmonic bells of Gotham's oldest church chime on this bright spring day, in honor of the city’s newlywed couple.

Edward and Oswald dash out of the church’s double doors, holding each other's hands in rapturous bliss, feeling more in love with each other since the day they met.

The wedding party showers the grooms with a rainbow of rose petals as they skip their way to the white limousine, waiting to drive them off to their lifelong honeymoon together.

This day is a day for celebration, but not everyone in Gotham is overjoyed by the nuptials.

Isabella sits in her car, watching what he thinks is a sickening display from afar. It had taken two years before she asked Edward to marry her and now he has tied the knot with another in only one-hundred and eighty-two days. She still hasn't gotten over her break-up with Edward and she spends a lot of her time planning out her revenge on Oswald. If only Edward wasn't in the car she'd run that limo in front of a moving train and watch with hope that it combusts into flames.

However, Isabella will keep herself from doing anything today. She's a patience girl who can wait for the best opportunity to strike when Oswald least expects it. It could take years before she makes her move and she wouldn't be bothered by it one bit.


	3. Revenge of the Little Blonde Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After 25 years, Oswald and Edward’s lives together has been a dream come true, mostly. A lot may have changed over the years, but they are still very much in love. Isabella suddenly comes back into the men’s lives with an invitation to the premiere party of her new book, but she has a lot more to show them than just a new novel. As Oswald prepares himself for the continuation of his lifelong rivalry with Isabella, (itching to rub his happy marriage with Edward in her face) he is introduced to a rather strange doctor who claims to know how to turn back the hands of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lot going on and I think it’s the best one so far. It’s all going to get better and worse from here. This is only the beginning of the cat and penguin fight. Poor Eddie..... I hope those who read the chapter enjoy. Please like, comment, or reblog if you do. Happy reading! ✩⚫꒳⚫✩

## Part Three: Revenge of the Little Blonde Bitch

_[25 Years Later]_

Oswald and Edward, for the most part, had spent the last quarter of a century happily married. The first twenty years were like living in a never-ending honeymoon, deeply in love with each other since the day they met. However, when Oswald suffered a crippling leg injury while working on the set of the movie he thought would bring him his second Oscar, his relationship with Edward changed rapidly.

Oswald became depressed after becoming disabled, which strained both his career and life with his husband. Stress eating became a comfort for the actor, and his body started to show the emotions he was using food to hide. The weight piling up on his body lead to Oswald distancing himself from Edward. Oswald's loss of confidence and sexual drive caused Edward to start to look for other ways of stimulation—which he found in drug-induced hallucinations.

Edward's thrill-seeking lead to the end of his plastic surgery career. Working on countless rhinoplasties, breast augmentations, and liposuctions no longer gave him the euphoric sensation he once felt when cutting into living flesh. So, to give him that thrill he craved, he began a new career that’s completely the opposite of what he once loved and now works as the medical examiner for the GCPD. Cutting into dead bodies while hallucinating his thirty-year-old husband singing seductively while wearing a top hat has far less margin for error than working on a living patient's hair transplant.

Though the fifty-year-old couple has both become different men from where they first started, Oswald and Edward still try to make their marriage work, even though they're frankly annoyed with each other.

Edward is kneeled down before Oswald, who's sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, attempting to perform oral sex on his life-long lover.

Oswald fists his hands in Edward's silvering hair, moaning lazily to the sensation around his cock. “Oh my, Edward,” his voice edges on mocking. “You really turn me on.”

Edward lifts his head, allowing Oswald's  flaccid cock to fall from his lips. He squints up at Oswald, hot blood surging through his veins which causes his face to redden with fury. “I don't even know why you let me try.”

“Because when you're horny you never leave me alone, so I just give in.”

“You know I hate sucking your cock when you don't get hard.”

“Then don't suck it.”

“I've seen stiffer cocks on dead bodies,” Edward teased, but not in a playful way. He meant every word.  

“Maybe you should suck one of them,” Oswald fires back, stuffing his cock back into his pants.

“That's disgusting, Oswald.”

“Well, you started it.”  

With a sigh, Edward quickly stood to his feet and marches out of the sitting room.

“Where are you going now?” Oswald asks out of curiosity, though he thinks he already knows.

He stops at the entryway and faces Oswald with his hands on his hips. “I'm getting Foxy,” he says with a wicked grin. He knows how much Oswald hates Foxy and how Edward always turns to Foxy whenever Oswald doesn't really want to have sex but he still tries anyway.

“Good!” Oswald bellows, holding back more anger than he thinks he should.  “I hope you two have fun!”

“We will!” He circles back around dramatically. “Foxy always makes me cum!” Edward adds, storming up to their bedroom.

Once inside the large room he shares with his husband, Edward opens the closet door and pulls out a metal box. He takes off the top of the box and removes a rich flesh colored vibrating dildo. “Hello, Foxy Foxy.”

## *  
*  
*

The trusty maid, who has served on the Cobblepot-Nygma estate for the past twelve years after her mother retired, enters the husbands’ bedroom early on this vibrant spring morning. She carries a silver tray with a freshly made breakfast for one. She rests the tray on the side table and starts to open the curtains in the room.

“Rise and shine, Mr. Penguin,” Olga says. The fairly young servant is named after her mother. “I made you a protein-rich breakfast for your new diet.”

Oswald slowly sits up in the bed and remove his nightly face mask, which helps prevent fine lines and bags around the eyes.

Olga shuffles over to the bed and sits the tray in front of Oswald.

“Junior,” Oswald’s voice is flat as he spoke the woman's nickname.

“Yes, Mr. Penguin?” She circles back to face him.

“I think you're forgetting something.” He gives her a deadpan glare.

She thinks for a moment of what she could have been forgetting, then it suddenly comes back to her. “Oh, but... you said I only had to say it on Thursdays.”

“I think I need to hear it every day now,” Oswald says, scooting his try a little closer. “It's a great motivator to getting my career back on track.” So he thinks, the arrogant little fuck. “You know I'm planning my huge comeback.”

“Yes, sir,” she agrees, nodding her head. “I'll say it every day.”

“Go on…” he encourages her, fanning his hand as if he was shooing away a pet.

She widens her eyes and plasterers a smile on her face. “Wow, Mr. Cobblepot-Nygma, that diet you're on is really shaving off the pounds.”

“Thank you, Junior,” he says pleased. “I think I've lost six pounds so far.”

“That's incredible.”

Oswald smiles, feeling that little rush of confidence, as he takes a drink of his glass of orange juice. “So,” he looks over at the empty space on the bed where his husband should be laying, “I see Edward managed to make his side of the bed this morning.”

“He never made it to bed last night, sir.”

Oswald rolls his eyes. “So where did he sleep?”

“In the den.”

“Again?”

“Yes, sir.”

Edward didn't sleep. It was more like passing out.

“I hope he wasn't up all night hallucinating on those pills,” Oswald says with a deep concern for his husband.

Edward could be pleasant and fun while surfing his high, even reminiscent of his old self and the way he and Oswald used to feel for each other. But lately, so, his chemical trips had been on the numbing side. However the pills make him feel, Oswald wishes he would stop using them and try to handle their lives without always being stuck in a haze.

“I don't think so,” Olga replies. “I think he just drank last night.”

“I wish he'd stop doing both.”  

The maid nods. She wishes the same. “Oh!” She slid her hand into the front pocket of her tiny white apron. “I almost forgot.” She pulls out a sealed gold envelope and hands it to Oswald. “It came special delivery.”

He takes the envelope and reads the name of whom sent it. “Isabella Flint.” He hasn't spoken that name in years. “Well if it isn't my old friend… I wonder what that little sad mouse has been up to.” He rips open the letter and inside the card little, glittery, star-shaped confetti sprinkle out on his lap. “Oh, isn't she cute,” he snickers and reads the card.

> _Mr. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot-Nygma, you, and your plus one are cordially invited to the premiere party of my new book; Eternally Young._

Oswald takes in a sudden sharp gasp and his eyes bug out. “That little bitch.” He gazes up at the maid. “The party is tonight!” He crushes the empty envelope in his pudgy little hand. “Are you sure this invitation came today?”

“Yes, sir. I just got it from the carrier just as I was bringing up your breakfast,” she says swiftly.

“Well, if that's the case then it must have gotten a delayed delivery or Isabella is being a rotten evil bitch,” Oswald snarls. Who the hell sends an invitation the day of the party?  He quickly removes the tray from his lap and pulls the covers off of him. “I have to get a suit for Edward and me.” Panic starts to sink in. “I still need to work out. Oh, God…. This weight.” If only he had a week’s notice he could have at least lost ten pounds. “How am I going to lose this fucking weight by tonight?… I have so much to do if I'm going to flaunt my happy marriage in her face.” He stands from the bed and takes his cane leaning against the wall. “Junior, go wake up Eddie and make sure he isn't hung over.”

“Yes, Mr. Penguin.”

## *  
*  
*

Down in the den, Edward lays on the floor with his face pressed against the handmade Persian rug. Drool drips from his mouth as he still clutches onto the highball glass of the Hairy Navels he had Olga mix for him all night. His liquor-induced snoring can be heard echoing down the hall as the maid enters the den holding a small silver tray.

“Dr. Cobblepot-Nygma?” she says softly, trying not to alarm the sleeping beauty. She rests the tray on the coffee table then shuffles back over to the passed out doctor and removes the glass from his hand. “Dr. Cobblepot-Nygma,” she speaks a little louder and shoves Edward on the shoulder with her foot. “Dr. Nygma!”

With a snort, Edward finally shows signs of life by flinching and cracking open his eyes. “What time is it?” he grumbles.

“Fifteen minutes to eight,” she answers, turning back to the coffee table and replaces the empty highball with the fresh Bloody Mary on the tray, then picks up a little white pill as well.

“Good,” Edward turns into his back. “Wake me at one.”

Swaying her head in disapproval, the maid sits down next to him on her knees and offers him the glass. “Your breakfast.”

“What?” With his eyes still closed, Edward asks bewildered at the idea of food. She knows he never eats after a long night of drinking.

She sighs, rolling her eyes. Maybe a rephrase will gain his attention. “It's a bit of the dog that bit you.”

“What?” he snaps, rubbing his temples to relieve the throbbing in his head.

“It's a Bloody Mary, sir,” she says bluntly and straightens the glasses on his face.

Edward suddenly sits up from the floor and takes the glass from her hand. “Why didn't you just say that?” He takes out the celery stick, tosses it across the room, and guzzles the cocktail. “Ugh,” he grunts after gulping down the drink. “It needs more vodka.”

“Right away, sir.” She takes back the glass and rest the pill in Edward's hand, then heads to the dry bar on the far side of the den to fix the drink.

“What's this?” he asks, squinting down at the pill.

“It's a painkiller.”

“Oh, good.” He places the pill between his teeth and bits down on it so that the medication flows through his system a little faster. He knows he shouldn't take a painkiller with alcohol, but he hasn't suffered from any of the side effects so far. “Is he up yet?” Edward asks about his husband after swallowing the pill dry.

“Yes. He asked me to wake you and make sure you were okay.”

“So he does still care about me.”

“Of course he cares about you Dr. Nygma,” she says, bringing the drink back to him. “Mr. Penguin still loves you.”

“Sometimes I forget.” He takes the glass and then a long drink. “Why did he send you to wake me?” he asks after swallowing the mouthful. “I know he wants something.”

“You've been invited to a party tonight and he wants to make sure you're sober.”

“A party tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” she says with a nod. “It's a book premiere party for Isabella Flint.”

If Edward had the floppy ears of a puppy they would've perked up by the sound of that name. “My Isabella?” He isn't quite sure why he said it like that. Slip of the tongue, perhaps?

Isabella and Edward haven't breathed oxygen in the same room since the day she came to collect her belongings from his loft. That was exactly twenty-five years ago.

“Yes, Doctor. One in the same.”

“There's gonna be a bloodbath between her and Oswald.”

“I wish I could be there to see it.”

Edward grins devilishly, resting his glass on the floor. “I'll take pictures.”

## *  
*  
*

After a heavy workout and feeling defeated by his weight, Oswald storms out of the mansion, mind set on a mission to quickly solve this problem.   
  
Completing the long limo ride to the north side of Gotham, Oswald enters a plastic surgery firm—which used to be rival competition for Edward's practice—in hope that they have a simple solution to shaving off the extra pounds in time for the party tonight. He wants Isabella to drop dead at the sight of him holding hands with Edward and looking the best of physical health and beauty for a man who's pushing fifty-one.   
  
“Dr. Mooney!” Oswald barks, busting through the doors of the medical building. “I need to speak to Dr. Mooney right now!” He waddles past the receptionist desk, and a young, red-headed nurse follows anxiously behind him.   
  
“Mr. Cobblepot.” She finally catches him and stands in front of him to stop him in his tracks. She knows him by name because he has been here before for a few minor procedures and she's also a bit of a fan of his acting work. “Dr. Mooney is having a very important meeting in her office.”   
  
Oswald leers at the nurse up and down before his eyes finally catch her name tag. “Hello, Ivy,” he says her name in the most growling tone and taps his short fat finger on the tag pinned to her uniform. “I can assure you that there's nothing she's doing right now that could be more important than me,” he argues and uses his weight to push his way past the taller nurse.   
  
“Maybe there's something I can do to help?” She chases after him again.   
  
Oswald stops and looks her dead in the eye. “Can you make me lose fifty pounds in five hours?”   
  
She blinks, baffled by the question, but she can tell that Oswald is absolutely serious. “No, sir,” she answers honestly.   
  
"Then… you… are… useless.” He boops her on the nose and steps to the right to make his way further down the hall.   
  
“I don't even think Dr. Mooney could make a miracle like that happen.”   
  
Oswald quickly circles back to her, eyes searing red as he grips tightly to the bird-shaped handle of his cane. He has a dagger hidden inside, but he didn't know that there would be a possibility he'd need to use it here. Good thing he’d thought ahead correctly. “I've heard of outpatient procedures for weight loss.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate her with his size. It's the only thing he actually likes about being so round. “My husband was working on perfecting it before he lost his touch. So don't you stand there and tell me that it can't happen!”   
  
The nurse hides her emotions expertly and takes a deep breath. Fish has taught her team to handle any situation professionally. “That's a micro-procedure for only removing small amounts of fat around the arms, stomach, and hips. Not for eliminating fifty plus pounds.”  
  
Oswald huffs, tipping his head slightly to the right. “Excuse me, but are you a doctor?”  
  
“Well, no.”  
  
“Then I don't wanna speak to you!” he blurts out in a rage.  
  
“Mr. Cobblepot, there's must be something I could do,” she tries to come up with a compromise. “How about a nice chemical peel, or I know several herbal remedies that can help with weight loss, and there's always makeup to help you feel good…. I could do your makeup and have you looking fabulous for whatever event you're attending tonight.”   
  
He gawks at the nurse with ‘what the fuck?’ painted all over his features and body language. The mere idea that this is a solution is utterly absurd. “Makeup?” He blinks, tipping his head to the right, still trying to fathom how this is going to help in any way. “You think makeup is going to work on this!?” He points down at his gut which hangs over his pants. It isn't very noticeable under his long heavy coat, but his soft, delicious, muffin top is definitely there. “I'm so sorry that you have to stand there with your perfect skin, your twenty-two-year-old body with tits like rocks, but some of us can't just roll out of bed looking like a goddess!”  His eyebrows curled against each other and his voice rose with every word he spat out. “Now you go get Dr. Fish Mooney right now before I make a bigger scene than I already am!”

“No one is going to make any scene,”  Dr. Mooney says, storming out of her office. She had cut her online group conference short because of all of Oswald's yapping. “Now what the hell is going on here?”

“Dr. Mooney, I tried too…”

“Shush, girl,” Fish cut off the nurse before she could finish. “I heard you trying and failing.”

“I’m so sorry, Doctor.”

“It's fine,” she assures her. “Just go reschedule my group conference.”

“Yes, ma'am.” The nurse scuffles into Fish’s office.

“Now, Oswald.” The doctor crosses her arms, shifts to the right and speaks with a grin, “Why are you throwing your weight around my office?”

He chuckles, dramatically insincere. “That's very funny,” Oswald says with thick sarcasm, rolling his eyes. Her pun was worse than any pun he's heard from Edward in the past twenty-five years. And he's heard thousands of puns from his dorky doctor of a husband.

“I thought it was,” she replies with a proud smirk.

Since the doctor knows what he's here for, Oswald sees no reason for beating around the bush. “You know what I want. So let's do it now.”

“Oswald, what you're asking just simply can't get done.” Since Oswald is finally speaking to a doctor, Fish hopes this will settle him down. “Removing that amount of weight takes a significant amount of recovery time and you won't recover in five hours.”

Oswald runs his fingers through this hair, frustrated by the situation. Why did the party have to be tonight? “I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do.”

Feeling inclined to help Oswald, Fish lays her hand on his right shoulder. She's always had a soft spot for the old fool. “Come with me, sweet child.” She leads the way into an empty consultation room. She closes the door and turns to face Oswald, who now stands in the middle of the white room. She steps up to him and sighs, “What you need is the help of a different kind of Doctor.”

“I'm not seeing a psychiatrist,” Oswald quickly makes an assumption.

“I'm not speaking of a psychiatrist and you'd know that if you'd wait a damn minute,” Fish snaps, then she takes a deep breath to collect herself before finishing what she had to say. “I'm talking about a man of science… and magic.”

“What!?” _Had she finally gone mad?_

“I know this isn't what you wanted to hear.”

“You’re right, it is not.” Oswald crashed the end of his cane on the floor, feeling as though he's being made a fool of. “If you didn't want to help me, you should have just said so.”

“I am trying to help you. You just need the listen,” she argues back. “His name is Dr. Hugo Strange and what he's created is truly magnificent. It could change the world, but he's not looking to do that.” She knows what the doctor can do from her own personal experience. There's a reason she doesn't tell anyone her age and looks to have never aged more than thirty. “Now, this is only for a very select group, and I'm letting you in on it as a friend.”

Oswald huffs and rolls his eyes as he leans against his cane.

Fish digs into the inside pocket of her white coat and takes out a business card. “You can find him here.” She hands over the card.

Oswald falters, hesitant, but snatches the card anyway.

“Now I must tell you, this won't be cheap.”

“Nothing in my life is cheap. So how much is this doctor's  _‘magic’_ —” he actually does the smug air quotations— “going to cost?”

“The price is different for everyone.”

“Whatever, Fish,” he says, fed up with her fairy magic bullshit, and waddles past her to swing the door open. He will no longer be dragged any deeper into her unhumorous joke. He will not be anyone’s fucking joke anymore in his life. He storms out of the room and rips the card in half as soon as he's outside the building. He stuffs the card pieces into his coat pocket and makes his way to the limo to go home. He still has a lot to do to prepare for the party. If he has to go carrying every pound, then he's going to do it looking fucking fabulous. There's no way that little blonde bitch will outshine him at her very own party. He'll still steal the show from her like he's always done.

## *  
*  
*

Oswald and Edward sit next to each other in the back of their limo, holding hands, and watching outside their windows. They haven’t spoken much during the ride since they had an argument while getting dressed for the party.

Edward learned of Oswald's attempt at plastic surgery before this evening's event. He thought that it was very irrational of Oswald to go under the knife just to keep this feud between him and Isabella going. Something could have gone wrong and Edward wouldn't have known where his husband was.

Oswald and Isabella are both adults in their fifties with rather successful careers and reputations. They still shouldn't be acting like spoiled children. They should be trying to get along by now rather than continuing to try to hurt each other. Being in and out of each other's lives this way, they couldn't have gone on all this time without having developed some love or respect for each other at some point. It truly can't all be hate.

The limo driver stops the vehicle in front of Wayne Manor, where Isabella is throwing her premiere party.

Edward steps out of the car and walks over to the other side to help Oswald out. He opens the door and places a kiss on Oswald’s round cheek as he stands out of the vehicle. “I love you, Oswald, and I'm sorry if I overreacted earlier. I just don't want anything to happen to you.” He kisses Oswald's cheek again. “You know how anxious I get when you go under the knife and I'm not your doctor.”

“It was stupid of me. I know that now.” He takes Ed by the hand. “Let's just go inside and try to have a good time. I can't wait to see the look on Isabella’s face when she sees how happy we are.”

When the men enter the mansion, they are led by one of the ushers to the grand room which is decorated in gold and filled with more people than either of them had expected. There are a few familiar faces gracing the event and some are even from Oswald and Isabella's childhood together.

An old girlfriend of Oswald's catches the sight of the grooms entering the room and she dashes over to greet her old flame.

But Oswald has no interest in caching up the years with Sofia Falcone. She was the first of a few girls and boys he had ended a relationship with because of Isabella's involvement with them. Oswald tightens his hold on Edward's arm and walks pass Sofia without giving her a glance.

“Oswald,” Edward whispers, leaning into his husband. “Do you know her?”

With a sigh, Oswald answered, “Not anymore.”

The couple makes their way through the party without even a single glimpse at the woman of the evening, and not setting sight on Isabella is making Oswald more anxious. Who spends their own party lurking in the shadows?

Edward and Oswald do engage in small talk with a few of the other guests, and even get their hands on Isabella's book to skim through the pages.  

Isabella's book, Eternally Young, is a romance novel with a tragic love story. Which Edward isn't surprised to learn that this is what the story is about. He's read dozens of her manuscripts before and she's always had a flair for tragic romantic fiction. However, now, after a failed engagement and twenty-five years of having no contact with Isabella, Edward finally understands why she loves this kind of story and why she wrote them. They were always an impression of her own love life. Having this epiphany only just today kind of makes Edward feel like a fool.

Suddenly, there's a commotion by the broken heart-shaped ice sculpture, and whispers of the author finally making her appearance.

Oswald hears all the ruckus and leaves Edward behind with a server holding a tray of hors-d'oeuvres the actor was having trouble deciding on which ones he wanted to try. He fights his way through the crowd until he reaches a clearing amongst the partygoers and his eyes are caught on a woman with her back turned away from him.

The woman is a frumpy blonde, with an updo, wearing a pale chocolate skirt suit with stockings, for god's sake!

 _“Who the hell wears a skirt suit to an evening event like this? Oh yeah, Isabella would.”_  Oswald has already dropped dead with laughter in his mind. He isn't a bit surprised to see her so dressed down like a snooty librarian. She's always had a horrible sense of fashion.

However, when the woman turns around, Oswald is mortified to see that she isn't Isabella.

A gasp escapes the actor when he finally sets sight on the real author standing just behind the frumpy old blonde.

Isabella Flint stands amongst the crowd of excited book fans. Her long, silky, golden hair is styled elegantly in a way that it cascades over her right shoulder. Her milky skin illuminates the room as she holds a glass of champagne and laughs with the guests in her designer strapless, black evening gown, which shimmers in the light.

Her stunning appearance is a lot to take in for someone who hasn't seen her since the day he stole her fiancé away. It's almost too much for Oswald to handle since Isabella doesn't look a day over thirty.

He tries to make a retreat to gather up his husband before Edward sees what he could have been married to, but his escape is unsuccessful when he hears a name he hasn't been called in decades.

“Ozzie?”

Oswald freezes in his place and tries not to show any other emotion, except for extreme enthusiasm to see his old friend—even though he is completely faking it. “Izzy!” He turns with a smile plastered on his face.

“Oh, my god! You did come!” She hands her glass of champagne to the man next to her and greets her childhood friend with open arms. “Oh, Ozzie.”

“Oh, Izzy.” The smile on his face morphed into a jealous grimace when he hugs her. She can't see his face so he expresses how he really feels behind her back. How was she able to go through the years so well preserved? “You look absolutely amazing, Isabella,” Oswald says as he breaks their embrace. If his short, fat, legs could reach back to kick himself in the ass, he would right now only because the words he just choked out weren't a lie. She  _did_ look breathtakingly fabulous.

Isabella is a blonde-fucking-bombshell at fifty years old, which is something she wasn't at age twenty-five.

“You look amazing yourself, Oswald.” She leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “I must be honest though.” She stands upright. “I never imagined you putting on weight, but it looks good on you. You look very healthy.”

Oswald's freckled cheeks redden as he holds in the steam from exploding through his ears. “I am healthy, working on losing the weight, in fact,” he manages to say without blowing his top.

“That's incredible. I'm sure you’ve lost a lot so far.” She smiles, and her pearly whites seem to sparkle.

“I have,” Oswald swiftly adds. “Aside from that and my leg injury, I'm in good health.”

“Oh, your leg.” She brings her hand up to her lips with shock etched on her features. It appears she's become a better actress over the years. “I was devastated when I read what happened to you during the filming of Iceberg Lounge,” she says with great concern of Oswald's near-career-ending injury. “Ugh, it was terrible news and it was everywhere when it happened.”

While working a scene in the mob drama, Iceberg Lounge, Oswald's right ankle was crushed when a car chasing stunt went horribly wrong. Oswald doesn't normally do his own stunts, but this one seemed simple enough and he wanted to give it a go. The practice runs all went smoothly, but at the time of filming, Oswald lost control of the car and crashed it.

“But your performance in the movie was phenomenal,” Isabella continued to give praise. “I was absolutely floored, as most of your fans were when you were able to finish the film and earned that Oscar nomination. It's a crime that you didn't win.”

“Yes…” Oswald nods, licking his lips. “I'm sure you thought it was,” he snarks, not holding back one bit of sass in his voice. He's sick to death of her phony gratitude and kindness. He knows she wants to see his head burning on a pike. So why the hell isn't she acting like it?

“Why did you say it like that?”

“Let's be honest with each other for the first time here, Izzy,” Oswald snaps, narrowing his brow. “You'd rather have seen me die in that accident than see me finish the movie because of what I took from you.”

“So—” she crosses her arms— “I guess it's time to clear the air, huh?”

“Yes, it is!”

“Okay.” She steps up to Oswald and lays her hands on his shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes. “I've forgiven you for what you did. My heart was broken at the time, yes, but I'm completely over it. Otherwise, I wouldn't have invited you here at my party,” she says with the utmost sincerity, or so it seems. “What happen twenty-five years ago wasn't your fault…. It was mine…. I couldn't get over my jealousy of you. I wanted to flaunt what I had in your face, but it just backfired on mine, and I deserved it. I should have been trying to be your friend instead of trying to prove that I was better than you.”

Oswald can tell a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Whoever taught her the fine art of manipulation was exceptionally good, but not good enough to trick him. However, he'll play along, for now, to see how far it goes. “You really mean that?”

“Every single word.” She gently squeezes his shoulders. “I respect you, Oswald. I always have.”

They stare at each other, tension as thick in the air between them as it's always been. Nothing seems to have changed. They're just both pretending, but for what? What's her real game?

“Oswald! Oswald!” Edward slurs, stumbling a little tipsy through the sea of party guests as he holds a tray of hors-d'oeuvres. He finally finds his husband standing next to a mysterious blonde. “Pengy Daddy,” he shuffles up to Oswald, not paying Isabella any attention. He doesn't even recognize that it's her yet. “You left me. Soooo I helped myself to a few drinks and got you these.” He presents Oswald the platter. “I don't know what you wanted. Soooo I got one of each…. I think.”

“Pengy Daddy?” Isabella giggles from behind Edward. “I remember there was a time I called you Riddle Daddy.”

Edward turns to face the woman behind him and he’s immediately hit with a blast from the past. “Isabella?” He stares frozen in place as the hors-d'oeuvres in his hands start to slip from the tray onto the floor. He didn't expect to see his ex-girlfriend looking exactly the same as the day she packed her things in his loft; actually, she looks even better.

“Oopsie.” She helps straighten the tray in his hand so no more food is wasted. “There you go, Eddie.”

“Isabella?” He squints his eyes, making sure he doesn't need a new prescription for his glasses.

“Yes,” she giggles girlishly. “It's me.”

“You look magnificent!” he says, bright-eyed and excited.

Oswald's jaw drops to the floor. Even in his brand new gray, purple, and black pinstripe suit, he didn't get such an enthusiastic compliment from Edward. Not to say he didn't get a compliment from his hubby, which he did, but it definitely didn't sound as if Edward got an instant boner like it just sounded right now.

“Oh, my!” He steps forward but quickly takes a step back. “Can I… Can I give you a hug?” Edward asks, instead of just assuming that he could.

“Of course you can,” she answers, sounding very pleased.

Edward foolishly circles in his place looking for somewhere to set the tray. “Here, Oswald.” Although he doesn't mean anything malicious behind his actions, Edward basically shoves the platter in Oswald's face. “Can you hold this for me?”

Oswald grumbles as he takes the tray.

“Thank you, dear,” Edward says before facing back to Isabella and gives her a good ol’ bear hug—laughter and giggles are shared between the two.

“I don't know why I didn't imagine seeing you with gray temples, but it looks so handsome on you,” she compliments him with a praise of her own.

Edward slowly pulls out of her arms. “Thank you, Isabella, but we both know I didn't age as well as you.”

“Don't be so modest, Eddie.” She takes off his glasses to get a better look at his face. “You've aged like fine wine. Those little crow's feet framing your eyes are adorable.” She gently strokes the back of her hand along his jawline. “And you've always had the smoothest skin.”

“Oh, Isabella,” Edward giggles bashfully as she rests the glasses back on his face.

Oswald's blood runs hot with jealousy, but somehow he can't move to do anything about Isabella’s gross display of flirting. He feels paralyzed and forced to watch.

“I know what's on your mind, Eddie, and I'm going to be the first to bring it up.” She takes both of Edward's hands and holds them tightly as she caresses her thumb over his skin. “Our past is in the past—” she looks him squarely in the eyes— “and I was just telling Oswald that I've forgiven him. I need you to know that I've forgiven you too,” her honeyed voice says. “Of course, I was heartbroken, and it took awhile for me to get over it. I really did love you, Eddie, but all of that is over now. It's been twenty-five years.” She leans into Edward, standing on her toes as she wraps her arms around his back and gives him another hug. “No one can hold a grudge that long,” she says, looking directly at Oswald from over Edward's shoulder, slowly inching her hands closer to Edward's ass.

Oswald's eyes widen as movement suddenly comes back to him and he slams the silver tray and his cane to the floor, and another crowd starts to swarm around them. “Get your grubby hands off of him!” he barks and waddles to Edward, wincing at the pain in his ankle, but that is nothing compared to the pain he's going to give to Isabella. He pulls Edward away and stands between him and the little blonde bitch. He stares at her viscously and growls through his teeth.

“Now, now, Oswald,” Isabella says, stepping closer to the actor, swaying her finger slowly in front of him like she was scolding a naughty child. “I think you're overreacting for nothing.”

“I agree,” Edward says, laying a hand on Oswald's shoulder.

“What?!” Oswald snaps his head to Edward. “You agree with her?”

“Yes, because there's no reason for you to be acting this way.”

“Oh, so you say there's no reason, but all she's done has been being manipulative all night,” Oswald argues back at Edward.

“No one is manipulating anyone.” Edward takes Oswald's hand and gazes at Isabella. “Congratulations on your new book, Izzy. I wish you great success with it.”

She smiles smugly and crosses her arms. “Thank you, Eddie.” She winks and she's instantly gifted with a small gasp from Edward. _Perfect._  

Edward quickly clears his throat, then turns away and starts to pull Oswald with him, hoping his husband doesn't think too much into his gasp.

The gasp was honestly something anyone could have done when a drop dead gorgeous girl winks at them, you know?

“Come on, Oswald.” His sweaty palms grip Oswald tighter.

Edward has to be sweaty from all the booze he drank, right? There's no way his temperature rose because of Isabella, is there?

“We’re going home.”

As Edward and Oswald make their way out of the party, Isabella turns her attention to her guests, smiling proudly over what's transpired. Step one of her revenge plan is now completed, and that step was to gain the men's attention—which she now holds in the palm of her hand.

*

*

*

After arguing over how Edward was panting like a dog and drooling over how sexy Isabella looked the entire drive home, Oswald storms into the mansion, grab the coat he wore earlier to Fish Mooney’s and makes his way back through the front door.

“Where are you going?” Edward asks, only now getting into the house himself.

“Out!”

“But we were just out—!”

Oswald slams the door shut.

*

*

*

He couldn't believe it. Oswald just couldn't believe the way Isabella looked tonight and how she was touching his husband. What does she think she's gonna do? Steal Edward back? Not over Oswald's dead body! Tonight no longer matters anymore, because Oswald is going to show her that he can also turn back the hands of time. He just hopes that this Dr. Hugo Strange isn't a fucking quack.

*

*

*

At an old, once-abandoned lab, Oswald is being escorted by a woman named Peabody into the office to see the doctor. It's a mysterious place Dr. Hugo Strange has set up to meet with people (at all hours of the night, apparently) who want to try…. whatever the hell he can do that can make people lose weight instantly. Oswald has no idea what he's getting himself into, but he knows that it will all be worth it in the end.

When the door into Dr. Strange’s office is opened, Oswald is greeted with ominous words.

“I've been expecting you, Oswald,” the doctor says, turning around in his desk chair to face his new patient.

Oswald binks, confused. How did he know his name? “You knew I was coming?” he asks, stepping closer to the desk as Mrs. Peabody closes the door to leave them alone.

“Of course I did. I know when everyone who needs my help is coming.” He stands and gestures for Oswald to sit in the chair across his desk. “Please have a seat.”

Oswald hesitates at first but then takes the seat. After all, he did come all this way to see what the doctor can do.

He sits back down once Oswald has made himself comfortable. “Would you like some tea?” Strange offers, lifting the kettle, which rests in his reach on the desk.

“No, thank you,” Oswald refuses. This isn't a casual meeting and he has no time for tea.

The doctor pours himself a cup instead and sits the kettle back on the tray. “You want to get down to business, don't you?” he says and takes a sip of his steaming green tea.  

“Yes,” Oswald answers matter of factly.

Strange arches a brow. “The man knows what he wants,” he chuckles behind the rim of the teacup.

“I'm not sure you even have what I want.”

“Oh, but I do.” Strange puts his cup on the desk and stands from his seat, then glides over to take the chair next to Oswald. He leans towards the actor into his personal space. “You're searching for the fountain of youth,” he snickers wickedly.  “And I’ve invented it.”

Oswald falls back to get himself away from this creepy doctor if he even is a doctor. However, as odd as they may be, Strange's words do catch his attention. “Fountain of youth?”

Strange sits back and crosses his left leg over the right. “I know you're probably thinking that I’m some sort of mad scientist—” he lays a hand on Oswald's knee and smiles up at him— “but I can assure you that I'm not.”

Oswald gives the man a deathly glare until he removes the hand from his leg. “You certainly sound like one,” the actor says once he's free from the doctor's unwanted touch.

“I can't be upset with you for being honest—” he folds his hands in his lap—” but tell me, Oswald, how old do you think I am?”

Oswald squints, looking at the man. He thinks he's very good at assuming one's age. “Thirty-five? Maybe forty?”

“Not even close.” The doctor narrows his brow for what he thinks is the great reveal. “I'm Seventy-eight years old.” He lips curls up into a dark grin.

“What?” Oswald shrieks. There's no way he's telling the truth.

“It's true, Oswald. I have created a potion welding science and magic to turn back time and stop the aging process dead in its tracks.”

Oswald tips his head back in laughter, slapping his left hand on his knee. This has to be one huge joke Fish Mooney is playing on him. “Do….do you even hear yourself speaking?” He wipes the tears from his eyes.

“You don't believe me,” the doctor frowns.

“Of course not! There's no such thing as magic.”

Strange quickly slaps his hand on Oswald's hand, which is resting on the arm of the chair and holds it down. His eyes darken as he speaks intensely through his teeth. “Magic does exist, in this world and others. It just takes the right man to bend it to his will.”

“I knew it.” Oswald frees his hand from the doctor’s grasp, then picks up his cane and starts to make his exit. He's heard enough. “You are a quack.”

Dr. Strange grabs Oswald by the arm and pulls him back into the chair. “I'll prove it to you.”

Oswald snatches his arm back and dusts off the sleeve where Strange grabbed him. If he touches him one more time, today will be the day he will use the hidden dagger in his cane. However, for now, he'll give this quack one more chance and settles back into his seat, still curious about what Strange can do. “How are you going to prove it?”

With another dark grin, Stange says, “Hold out your hand.”

With a sarcastic roll of the eyes, Oswald wipes his right hand over his pants before presenting it to the doctor.

Strange opens his white suit jacket and pulls out a case that's similar to a metal cigarette case. He cracks it open and takes out a sharp blade kind of like one a barber would use. And without hesitation or even a warning, he slices through the surface of Oswald's finger.

“What the hell! Why did you do that?” Oswald roars, pulling his freshly cut hand away, and blood drips on his new suit.

“I'm giving you proof.”

“The only thing this proves is that you're a fucking psycho!”

“But I'm not finished yet. Will you allow me to continue?”

Holding back every urge to pull out his dagger and ram it into the doctor's chest, Oswald reluctantly agrees to continue. “Yes,” he snarls, offering back his hand.

“Good.” The doctor reaches into the pocket of his pants and takes out a little vile with an odd glowing blue liquid inside.

Oswald's eyes widen at the sight, having never seen anything else like it in his life. The fluid not only glows but sparkles in the vile and moves like the rotation of a black hole.

Strange unscrews the top with a little fluid dropper at the end and drops a single squeeze onto the cut he made on Oswald's finger.

Oswald watches his hand attentively, waiting for the magic to reveal itself, which it doesn't take long to do. The signs of age that once graced Oswald's hand disappears before his eyes, erasing all the wrinkles and leaving behind only smooth young skin.

The actor takes in a sharp breath and gapes astonished at the sight he's just witnessed, comparing both of his hands side by side, and they are complete opposites. It was a fucking miracle!

Oswald looks up at the doctor, who’s smiling proudly at his work. “Will it work on the weight?” he asks.

“Absolutely.”

Oswald marvels at his hands a little longer, laughing madly to himself. This is unbelievable. Isabella will never be able to fulfill any scheme she had planned because it will never work with him looking like his old self. He knows that Edward will always pick him over her, but his younger body and his rock hard cock are just extra insurance.

“So—” Oswald reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket— “how much is it?” he asks, pulling out a wallet.

“The price is different for everyone.”

“How much is it for me?”

Strange leans forward and whispers the amount in Oswald's ear.

“What?!” Oswald's snaps, shaken up at the price, but only for a moment. “Do you take checks?”

“No—” Strange tilts his head to the right and gently taps his chin with his pointer finger, “but I do take debit,” he says slyly.

“Sold!”

“Excellent.” Strange stands from his seat and goes back to the desk to retrieve his phone as Oswald searches his wallet for the credit card. “Now, since you live your life in the public eye, you may need to be aware of a slight stipulation.

“Yeah—” Oswald removes his credit card— “and what's that?”

“I can only allow you to live openly with your unchanged, flawless, perfection for ten years before anyone starts to get suspicious.” Strange stands in front of Oswald, holding his smartphone. “Then…. you must fade out of the limelight.”

“But how?” Oswald asks, handing the doctor his card.

“You could move to another country, become a recluse, or fake your own death.” Strange takes the card and scans it to receive the price he's owed. “It really doesn't matter what you do—” drops the card back in Oswald's hand after the transaction is approved for every pretty penny— “but after ten years, you must be gone.”

“I can do that,” Oswald agrees, pleased with the terms.

“Good.” The doctor pulls out another vile of the potion from his other pocket, this one is a little bigger than the one he used as proof of his magic, and drops it gently in Oswald's needy, portly, hands. “Drink up.”

Without hesitation, Oswald opens the battle and drinks every drop. The potion tastes bitter, a little sweet, and it stings his throat like cheap alcohol, but the sensation doesn't last long.

“Now, a warning,” Strange says, when Oswald opens his eyes after getting over the burn.

“Now you’re giving me a warning!?”

“Take care of your body.” The doctor gently strokes the back of his hand against Oswald's, plump, freckled cheek—which won't be plump for long. “You and it will be together for a very, very long time.”

## *  
*  
*

“Wake up!” Oswald demands, turning on the lights in the bedroom.

Usually, after a big fight with Oswald, Edward spends time alone in the den where he ends up taking one of his hallucinogenic pills or drinks until he feels numb, but tonight he wanted to work things out with Oswald instead of waiting a day or two. So he stayed and waited for Oswald to come home.

Edward shifts in the bed. “Oswald?” he sounds groggy as he rubs his eyes to adjust to the light. Once his vision is somewhat clear, he sits up, puts on his glasses, and sets his sight on an image he thought he'd only see again in old pictures. “W-What happened to you?”

Oswald looks like the handsome, young, man his husband fell in love with twenty-five years ago. Not an inch of fat is on his body, and every sign of his fifty years of life is gone. He stands in the doorway wearing only a top hat, a monocle and is smoking with a cigarette holder. Other than those items, Oswald is naked with a raging erection and a sex drive he hasn't felt in decades. “That doesn't matter right now, Eddie,” he says deliciously thick in a tone he only reserves for Edward and glides slowly to the bed. He’ll tell his lover later about the magic that does exist in the world. “Just know that I'm gonna fuck you like the day I stole you away from Isabella.”

Edward gasps dramatically with his hand over his heart. He thinks this might be a hallucination, but how could that be? He didn't take the pills tonight; actually, he hasn't ridden that high all week. “You— you are?” His asshole begins to throb with anticipation, feeling the phantom thrust of Oswald's hard cock already.  

“I'm gonna make you remember why you slithered home to me that night.” He climbs into bed, crawls to the center, and sits upon his knees. He blows out a ring of smoke as he sensually caressed himself from chest to inner thigh, teasing Edward with his body.

“Oh, yes!” Edward's blood courses through his veins like molten lava. “Oh, yes, please.” He knows this is all very strange, and he has a million questions as to how Oswald was able to make such a drastic change in his appearance in only hours, but the promise of hot, dirty, rough sex they haven't enjoyed in years is far more important at the moment.

“Now, take off your clothes and turn around with your ass in the air.”

“Yes!” Edward immediately rips open his silk pajama shirt and the buttons pop off to the mattress. “Yes, oh, God! Anything you fucking want, Pengy Daddy!” He kicks off the blanket and pops out of bed in a way he thought his old body couldn't do anyone, and slips off his paints. “Oh… Can I get my doctor's bag? I think I might need to do a bit of examining.”

Edward's ‘doctor’s bag’ is a collection of various sex toys and a stethoscope.

“Anything you want, Dr. Riddler.”  Oswald puts the cigarette holder between his teeth and begins to stroke his thick cock, which is already leaking.

“Oh, God, don't start without me.” Edward dashes to the closet to fetch the bag.

## *  
*  
*

_[30 Minutes Later]_

“Ah! Fuck!” Edward’s body stiffens as Oswald stretches his ass with a dildo that's thicker than the one he had just inserted. “I've—I've….missed this….s-so much!” he stammers but manages to force out a coherent sentence between his breathless moans.

“Your anal examination is almost complete, Dr. Riddler.” Oswald slams the tip of the toy dead on Edward's prostate.

“Oh, God!” Edward cries out in utter bliss. “Then I… Then I can do you?”

“Of course you can.”

## *  
*  
*

_[30 More Minutes Later]_

With an anal plug up his ass, Oswald fucks his husband vigorously from behind.

Edward's head drops as he strains to keep up with Oswald's swift pace. “Ah…. Mmm… Shit!” His body quivers with overstimulation. He had already come once with an orgasm that sent shockwaves through his body.

Oswald separates Edward's round cheeks, stretching his husband thinner. “I love how you've always been a whore for my cock.”

Edward's painfully hard shaft swings freely between his legs, thumping against his stomach with every lunge Oswald takes up his ass. “Oh, yes, you know I have!”

## *  
*  
*

_[1 Hour later]_

“Two hours,” Edward pants, body soaked in sweat and sticky with cum. “We've never had two straight hours of sex.” He takes more heavy breaths, trying to gain control of himself, but it seems as though all control is lost, at least until he gets over the fatigue and the afterglow of unbelievably long and extraordinary sex. “Oswald….” He gazes over at his husband laying next to him in their soiled bed. Oswald is just as wrecked as him. “Did I die?” He feels like he's passed through the pearly gates of heaven. Nothing that had happened the past two hours could’ve been real.

Oswald lifts the stethoscope hanging around Edward's neck, puts the earbuds in his ears, and listens to his husband’s lightning-quick heartbeat. “No, Eddie, you're still very much alive.”


End file.
